


Pink Carnations

by LigeiaSand



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Dogs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Communicating, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Minor Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Phone Sex, Sexting, Sick Dogs, Smut, The Lord of the Rings movie spoilers, all dogs are well in the end, past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Eskel, past Jaskier | Dandelion/Chireadan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:07:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24611245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LigeiaSand/pseuds/LigeiaSand
Summary: Geralt had intended to buy flowers, hoping against hope to fix his relationship with his bewitching girlfriend by giving her a bunch of dead plants. Instead, he met the cute florist slash aspiring singer Jaskier and couldn’t get him out of his head anymore. So he kept coming back to buy flowers every week. If only he could figure out how to tell Jaskier that he was single now.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 157
Kudos: 542





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is completely written, I will update on a regular basis and won't leave you hanging, pinky promise!
> 
> For anyone concerned about Geralt/Yen: It's rather transitory and more of a plot point to get the story going. 
> 
> With the deepest gratitude to my lovely beta [Hedwig_Dordt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hedwig_Dordt/pseuds/Hedwig_Dordt). Without her, this story wouldn't have come to an end. She also kept the angst at bay ;)

Geralt crossed the pasture in the back of the animal shelter slowly, letting his newest client - a big Kangal dog which had never learnt to wear a collar or leash and worse had never learnt to trust a human - have her fill with the free-roaming time. They just had their first breakthrough in training, Kara readily accepting him leading the way on the leash, and Geralt wanted to spend a little more time with her before his shift was over and he had to go home. Eventually, he opened the door to Kara’s kennel and ushered her inside. They had spent a long time learning to trust each other until this sort of communication was possible and Geralt felt a little proud of the dog. He crouched on his knees and petted Kara’s black head before he pressed his face into the lighter fur at her neck and inhaled the familiar scent. “Good girl, Kara, well done,” he murmured, “See, the leash isn’t as awful as you thought, is it? I bet we can go for a walk on the street in no time.” He continued to cuddle her when he heard footsteps approaching and moments later a gasp in the door opening.

“Mr Rivia? Kara is dangerous, we are not allowed to go in there alone!” It was one of the young lasses that helped in the shelter. Geralt didn’t bother to learn their names, they came and went and were all the same. Young, naive chatterboxes who thought they could save the world. Only a few stayed longer than a month. And even these usually kept out of his way. He was quite content with that. 

Kara reacted immediately, baring her teeth and Geralt quickly stepped in front of her, blocking her view. He ordered the girl outside with a jerk of his head and calmed Kara again before he said goodbye and closed the door to the dog’s kennel behind him. Only then did he acknowledge the presence of the girl again with a dark look and a questioning grunt. 

The girl swallowed and cleared her throat before she found her voice. “Someone brought a box with some puppies to the front desk. The manager wants to have them taken to the vet. They have to be checked for”, now the girl whispered, “ _parvo_.”

Geralt shrugged his shoulders. “So, take them to Triss. I’m at the end of my shift.” 

“Yes, I know, but that’s exactly that…” She clasped her hands and blushed, “We all still have work to do and if they actually have parvo then we can’t go back in and couldn’t finish our work and so Amanda said…” Of course, Amanda, the ringleader. Amanda didn’t let a situation slip where she could throw a stone in his way or get him to do her work. And dealing with a litter of parvo puppies took time. It could mean he would still be in the practice when the others had finished their work. In addition, parvo was a nasty business and there could always be a pup not making it. The girls didn’t want to get invested. He sighed. Just another welcome excuse to stay away from home, he guessed. Plus, Triss was one of the few people he actually could stand to spend time with. Though it had certainly never been Amanda’s intention to work in his favour.

When he reached the vet practice with the squealing cardboard box, Triss was awaiting him. 

“Geralt,” she greeted, “overtime hours again? I’ll have the talk with you later. First, let’s have a look at these poor bastards.”

They fell into their well-worn routine. Triss examined the six puppies, they took samples, placed intravenous catheters, set the drips running, gave the first round of treatments and they set up a home for the puppies in the isolation room. In the end, it was clear that all six of them were infected with parvovirus, but only two had developed panleukopenia so far. Their status wasn’t good, but it could have been worse.

Upon re-checking the setup, Triss said absentmindedly: “We should give them names.”

Geralt sighed. “Why? It will only hurt more if they don’t make it.”

“But they will make it if they have names! It worked last time, don’t you remember? Let me be a bit superstitious. Names it is! Harry Potter characters?”

Geralt rolled his eyes and grunted.

“Okay, okay. Hm.. what did you have for lunch?”

He gave her an incredulous look. “Fish?”

“Fish! There we go!” She pointed her finger at the puppies, one by one. “Cod, carp, pike, bream... zander, roach.” She grinned at Geralt. 

Finally, they cleaned and disinfected the practice room. Everybody else had long called it a day.

Triss magically produced two cans of bitter lemon out of the fridge and tossed one to Geralt. She grimaced, rubbing her face. “I would prefer something harder right now, but since you have to drive home and I have to spend the night here - don’t look like that, _you_ are going home and _I_ am staying with the pups - we have to go with these.” She pushed herself up to sit on the stainless steel table, Geralt settled himself in the desk chair, knowing she wouldn’t let him go until he’d spilled his beans. 

Triss played with the clasp of the can before she suddenly raised her head and looked him in the eye, “You know they don’t call you ‘White Wolf’ anymore?”

He stared back at her.

“You know the girls used to call you that, right? You with your white hair”, she gestured vaguely to his head, “and your pack-leader demeanour. Now they have a new name for you, ‘the Butcher’.”

Geralt could prevent himself from flinching but the twist on his face didn’t go unnoticed. 

“Oh honey, don’t take it personally, they just don’t know you and you terrify them. Especially since you have been grumpy as shit those last weeks. I’m sometimes surprised the dogs still can stand your dark mood. But then again, you always light up a bit if you are with them.”

She made a pause as if she wanted to give Geralt the opportunity to share without being probed. He didn’t.

“What happened to your bewitching girlfriend? They have to do with her, your moods, don’t they?” He shrugged his shoulders. “Are you still living with her?” He nodded. “Did you finally move in together?” 

He briefly closed his eyes. “No. I still have my flat. But I haven’t been there in ages. Yen doesn’t like.. when I do something on my own.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, and that’s about it. She doesn't like this. She doesn’t like that. We fought a lot. Well, she fought with me. I just… let her yell at me.”

“Geralt…”

“I know. I should stand up for myself. But, that’s not what I am. You know, Triss, I am no... _butcher_. I just want my peace. And it was fine with her, at first. We felt good together.”

“You fell head over heels. Or maybe ‘arse over tits’ would be the better fitting wording in your case.”

He huffed an unhappy laugh. “Maybe it was too much too soon. The fire burnt out.”

“If you want, you could try to spark the flames again.”

“How?”

Triss shrugged. “You could court her. Bring her gifts. Nothing too serious, don’t buy her a ring or anything. Start with.. flowers.” She looked at the clock and shook her head. “Today it’s too late. Tomorrow after work, then. I know just the place.”

* * *

The motorcycle roared disturbingly loud between the old brick buildings when Geralt rolled into the courtyard the next evening. He quickly turned the motor off and cautiously took his helmet off, bracing for the yelling that would indicate that the noise had annoyed someone. He was - as always - ready to turn on the spot and leave. But nothing came. The few people in the yard looked briefly at him and went on with their own businesses. He let out a breath and relaxed his shoulders.

He scrutinised the place: the neat facades, the groomed flowerbeds, the bench under the big tree in the centre, all dotted with the first glimpses of green and yellow, promises of an early spring after a mild winter. The shops located on the ground floor had small tables placed in front of their doors, showcasing the goods they were offering. Geralt didn’t need to double-check the address, the florist in the far corner made itself obvious through lots and lots of colourful flowers swaying in the breeze and the ornate lettering saying ‘Dandelion’s’ on the window pane.

Geralt dismounted, adjusted the strap of his bag and crossed the cobblestone ground. He still thought this was a silly idea. Flowers couldn’t save what neither of them wanted to be saved in the first place. Not even a forest could, let alone a bunch of flowers. “Here, have some dead plants that will be rotten by week’s end as a token of my undying love.” He snorted to himself. But Triss had insisted that this would be the thing to do and who was Geralt to judge social norms, so here he was.

When he entered the shop, his senses were flooded with an abundance of different scents and he had to pause for a moment, grunting lightly. A mob of light brown hair and sparkling blue eyes appeared behind the counter. The young man greeted Geralt with a beaming smile. “Just a sec!” He rummaged behind the counter and emerged with a sack of potting soil hoisted over his shoulder. He leaned heavy to the side, straining his body to balance out the weight. As a result, his lime green button-down shirt was riding up from where it was tucked into his jeans and Geralt could see a glimpse of a red waistband against milky white skin. He quickly looked away. The young man shuffled between the flower racks and when he passed Geralt, he could smell the soil and the touch of sweat and soap on the young man’s skin. The young man carried the sack to the front, where he dropped it gracelessly, taking a deep breath. “That was one, still nine to go… I’m glad the delivery came today and not when Nenneke was here alone... Ah, sorry, I’m rambling, what can I do for you?” He brushed his hair out of his forehead. His fingers left a trace of soil on his skin and Geralt was suddenly very interested in the flowers right next to him. He uttered: “Flowers.”

The other man blinked a few times and then shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, that’s what people usually come in for. So, what occasion will they be for?” He looked at Geralt expectantly.

“A colleague said they could help.”

Eyebrows shooting upwards, the smile reappearing. “Ah, so trouble with your girl, then?”

Geralt hummed.

“I can help with that! What are her colours?”

Geralt tried to remember if she ever told him her favourite colours. “Um… she likes to wear black and white.”

He received a sigh in return. “We can’t do that. We don’t have any black flowers and a bouquet of white flowers will look like a funeral.”

“Might be fitting.”

The other man gasped. “That bad? I’m sorry, dear.” He was silent for a heartbeat. “What colour are her eyes, then?”

Geralt wondered for a moment when it had been the last time that he had looked into her eyes and had recognised their extraordinary colour. He didn‘t know. “Violet.”

“Great! Violet it is!” The florist clapped his hands together and began to gather flowers from different buckets. Dark violet ones, light violet ones, a few big white ones with a yellow centre, a few green leaves - all the while chatting idly about spring coming and deliveries and whatnot. Geralt concentrated hard on not-noticing the way the young man‘s skinny jeans strained over his backside when he reached for the flowers that were placed in the buckets on the upper shelves. Or the way his shirt rode up his back during the same motion and let him repeatedly cherish the view of a tiny bit of skin and the bright red waistband. Or the way, when he leaned over the counter while putting the bouquet together, the open lapels of his shirt displayed his bare chest covered in dark hair. Therefore, Geralt needed a few moments to realise that he was asked for his opinion on the finished bouquet. It looked like a bunch of flowers, so he just nodded, hopefully encouraging.

Geralt paid cash and noticed that the young man had fallen silent while Geralt packed the flowers into his bag and took his helmet to leave. He couldn’t help himself from turning in the door, waving goodbye and uttering a “Thank you.” The other man was still standing behind the counter, still looking at him with wide blue eyes.

Geralt was almost halfway across the yard when the florist came running after him. “I… um… sorry but, you seem to be strong and… I have a pile of really heavy sacks of soil in the back and I… pff… could I ask for your help to carry them to the front?” He traced the tip of one of his green chuck trainers across the cobblestone and avoided Geralt‘s gaze, but his smile was hopeful and honest and if Geralt had one weakness, it was his inability to say ‘no’.

Geralt didn’t mind carrying the sacks from the back entrance where they had been delivered to the front where they were needed to plant some shrubs, he didn’t even break a sweat. Nonetheless, the other man thanked him profusely, beaming at him once more. “I really hope everything will work out with your lady,” he said. “I‘m Jaskier, by the way. Thank you again and have a good day!” Jaskier would probably have said more, but Geralt nodded at him, turning around and while walking back to his Ducati, he felt a smile tug on his lips, for the first time in weeks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier get to know each other better and Geralt comes to a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your feedback on the first chapter! I love you all <3
> 
> I had too many more ideas (I thought I was finished with the fic, but obviously, the fic wasn't finished with me ;), so I set the final chapter-count up to eight.

The flowers didn’t help, of course. Yen smiled at them, she thanked Geralt and put them in a vase. By the end of the week, they actually still looked somewhat nice. But they couldn’t change how he felt. How he wanted to close his eyes when he saw her, how he wanted to curl up in himself. And how furious she became when she noticed. Which weirdly happened on fewer and fewer occasions. The flowers did _something_ , though. Every time a whiff of their sweet scent reached him, every time he saw them on her dining table, he didn’t see the violet and white and dark green of the flowers but streaks of bright blue, of lime green and a glimpse of red.

Thursday evening, when Geralt came home late and entered the dining room, the flowers were gone. He didn’t bother asking her. She would have laughed at him for becoming attached to decaying flowers. And she was probably right. Nevertheless, he made sure to leave work early on Friday and hurried to the florist.

* * *

Geralt was relieved to see Jaskier in front of the shop as he stepped into the yard. He had parked the Ducati outside on the street. Jaskier was repotting plants with tiny yellow blossoms. He had rolled up the sleeves of his navy blue collarless shirt and his gloved hands, forearms and the thighs of his washed-out jeans were covered in soil. Geralt noticed with amusement that his Converse trainers were also navy blue this time. Jaskier was humming to himself and startled when Geralt’s boots entered his field of vision.

“Hey there!” He smiled up to Geralt and got up, brushing the soil off of his jeans and hands. “So, did it work out? What did she say? Did she like them?”

Geralt cursed himself inwardly. He hadn’t thought of a backup story, of a reason to be here other than how good it felt being here. That was reason enough for him, but obviously not for others. While he was thinking about a witty response, drinking in Jaskier’s scent (more soil, more sweat, same soap), Jaskier asked: “So, is it ‘flowers’ again?”. Geralt nodded. Yeah, great, so much for a nice greeting and a tie-in to last week, he scolded himself mentally.

Jaskier smiled regardless. “Sure. Let’s get in and see what I can do for you.”

He led the way and started gathering flowers from the buckets. After a few attempts to get Geralt’s approval for his choices, he just prepared the bouquet as he wished.

Geralt suddenly felt hot. He had come here to spend time and now he wasn’t even able to hold a conversation over a bunch of flowers, let alone extend his stay at the shop. There would be no sacks to carry today, no Jaskier running after him. He would have to leave in a minute and he hadn‘t even said one word to Jaskier.

Before he could fumble for anything to say, he heard the familiar sound of paws on the tiles and from behind the counter, the slender figure of a black greyhound emerged. She rubbed her greying head against Geralt’s thigh and he sank down to his knees promptly, letting her nuzzle into his palm and smoothing the other one over her spine, murmuring sweet nothings. He couldn’t help the smile spreading on his lips. “She’s a beauty.”

Jaskier stared at them and laughed. Geralt felt the familiar flutter of uncertainty in his stomach before he heard Jaskier say: “Iola, seriously? I try to charm a smile out of the man the whole time and you just look at him and you have him on his knees and all over you? You really have to fill me in on your seduction skills.”

Geralt chuckled - when did he do _that_ the last time? - and relaxed. This was familiar terrain. So he kneeled on the floor, caressed and massaged Iola and listened to Jaskier. He learned that Iola was Jaskier’s aunt’s dog, that it was his aunt Nenneke who ran the flower shop, that Jaskier was helping her out whenever he could, but especially on Fridays cause she had Bible group meetings then. He learned that Jaskier was an aspiring singer/songwriter and that he had gigs almost every Friday or Saturday night. He learned that Jaskier would love to own a dog himself, but since his life was too ‘unstable’ as he called it, he took Iola with him whenever he could instead.

When Iola finally trotted to her bed again, Geralt couldn‘t feel his knees anymore. He hadn’t dared to move, afraid to startle either Iola or Jaskier. He got up somewhat reluctantly and paid for the flowers. He left the courtyard with the realisation that he hadn‘t shared any personal information in return.

* * *

The next Friday, he almost didn’t go to the flower shop. He felt drawn back to the shop, and more so to Jaskier’s proximity. He had thought back to Jaskier and his smile, his open eyes, his overall friendly behaviour and his compelling earthy scent on more and more occasions the whole week. Not to mention the nights he thought about those bright blue eyes looking at him, that red waistband on display. But he felt self-conscious. What would Jaskier think when he came back again? After he told Geralt so much and still didn‘t know his name in return?

But then Triss mentioned how unwound he seemed, that she had seen him smile at least twice this week even when he wasn’t cuddling a dog. If things were back together at home, she asked. She implied that the flowers had really helped to fix the situation. And he realised that yes, he felt lighter. More relaxed. He could overlook the harsh comments and weird looks he got from strangers and acquaintances alike. He could turn off _her_ complaints. He just thought about _that smile_ and would have to hide his own.

* * *

Jaskier stood idly in front of the shop, white shirt matched with white Chucks, and beamed at Geralt when he approached across the courtyard. Jaskier made a few tentative steps towards him, then grinned and jogged the last paces. He started talking instantly and Geralt noticed that he didn’t mind. “Great to see you again. So this is becoming a tradition, then? Flowers every Friday? Great, great, I mean, women love rituals, don‘t they?” He laughed sheepishly. This time, he seemed to make an effort to include Geralt in the conversation. “See, I know you can talk. I know you’re not as hard and unfazed as you want to look in your all-black-leather outfit,” he poked at Geralt’s shoulder through his biker jacket. “I‘ve seen you with Iola. You don‘t need to raise your walls with me.” He didn’t say it, but Geralt heard the ‘You are safe with me’ nonetheless. And he was grateful.

So Geralt talked. Not much, no, but he replied when he was asked and he made sure to string more than three words together with each sentence. He crouched down and cuddled Iola while Jaskier prepared the bouquet and Geralt realised that though he didn‘t get an eyeful of that gorgeous cleavage in this position, he was content just to listen to Jaskier.

Jaskier told him about his week, his plans, his worries. He was given the opportunity to perform at a pub in two weeks from now. The owner of this pub had relations with important heads in the local music business. Jaskier confessed that he was giddy just thinking about it. Geralt was looking up at him and humming affirmations before he registered to do so, saying something about how charming and sunny Jaskier was and that his performance would surely be amazing – and Jaskier blushed. Something in Geralt’s chest fluttered.

Jaskier cleared his throat and declared the bouquet finished. Geralt rose to his feet, ready to pay. Jaskier smirked: “You only get it if you tell me your name, though. Please?” 

Geralt chuckled and introduced himself: “I’m Geralt. Geralt Rivia.” He saw a hint of tension leaving Jaskier’s features he hadn’t known was there. When Jaskier handed the bouquet to Geralt, their fingers brushed together. He heard a quick intake of breath and looked up, finding Jaskier staring at him, blue eyes fixed on his face. Jaskier let go so quickly that Geralt almost dropped the flowers. “Have a lovely evening with your girl!” Jaskier blurted. “See you next week?”

Geralt tried not to read hopefulness into Jaskier’s last question on his way home. He drove to his own home, the small flat he fortunately still hadn’t given up. He had decided that now was as good a time as any to spend the first night apart from her. So the bouquet got a place of honour on the coffee table, next to his motorcycle helmet and a bottle of scotch. He sent Yen a text that he was staying at his own place tonight and instead of the angry call he anticipated, he just received an ‘Ok, out anyway’ in return.

It was odd: they had had an amazing, hot, burning summer last year, but came autumn and winter, their spark had burnt out. Not without scorches, they had had hard fights and ugly arguments, but the last weeks, they just existed next to each other. They didn’t even fight that often anymore.

Finally, time to leave, he thought. Triss was right, the flowers did help his relationship, just not in the direction anyone had expected.

The scotch loosened his thoughts and brought memories to his mind that had been trying to break to the surface since he laid eyes on Jaskier for the first time a week ago. He let them come, wrapped himself in them and breathed them in. He travelled back to another hot summer, years ago, when he worked at his grandfather’s farm in the North after secondary school.

He could hear the cattle mooing, he could smell the sunburnt grass and he could feel Eskel’s delicate skin under his fingertips. They spend a wonderful time working together on the farm, training the horses, caring for the cattle, slipping off into the night with a bottle of whisky. They wandered far out to the meadows, only talking at first, passing the whisky back and forth, but as the whisky loosened their inhibitions and the nights became chilly, they gave in to the pull they had both felt long before. For several nights, they only sat together, huddled under the blankets, shoulders brushing, fingers touching shyly until Geralt finally worked up his courage and laid his arm around Eskel’s back. Mere minutes later they lay in the grass together, panting and moaning, Eskel rubbing his clothed erection on Geralt’s corresponding one until Eskel suddenly got rigid, his fingers digging into Geralt’s shoulders, his groans coalescing into a high-pitched moan. Geralt felt Eskel’s cock twitch against his own and barely stifled a shout as his release pulsed into his pants. They rode their high together and kissed and caressed one another for a long time afterwards.

After that night they barely could wait for the day to be finished, for the sun to set, for the night to fall. They suspected that their absence in the wee hours was noticed but the older workers seemed either not to care or didn’t think much about two young men experimenting. And experimenting they were. There was no body part they didn’t explore, no technique they didn’t try, making love until the sun rose or fucking each other senseless until the sky went grey, their groans and screams fading into the grasslands. Geralt still remembered Eskel’s smell and his taste as if he was lying right here in his arms and he revelled in that bittersweet memory for some precious moments.

He opened his eyes to find the room dark, the night still came early. He took another sip of scotch before he left the sofa, shedding his clothes on the way to the bathroom, childishly happy that there was no one to scold him for it. Stepping into the shower, he turned the water hot, as steaming as it would get. His scalp and skin burned with the sensation, shutting out every rational thought. Eventually, he propped one forearm against the wall and reached for his straining hard cock. It had been abandoned for weeks, Geralt had either lacked the opportunity or the spirit to wank, with her in his proximity. Now though, he felt like coming back to himself. His first touches were harsh, needy, but when the primal urge was sated, he let the memory of Eskel‘s mouth on him blend in with the sight of bright blue eyes and open shirt lapels, with tight blue jeans and a red waistband, all mingled with the smell of grass and flowers. He came far too soon, pressing his forehead to his forearm, not bothering to stifle his groans.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song rec for reading including mild spoilers in the end notes.

The next Friday was brisk, but the sky was blue and the early spring sun was trying her best to brighten up everyone’s mood. She did a pretty good job and Geralt felt a smile tug on his lips when he reached the yard.

He tried to calm down before meeting Jaskier, he didn’t want to look too happy when talking of his recent break-up. He, for once, felt free and reunited with himself, but it still was something noteworthy and serious. He had fetched his things from Yen’s house the day before and somehow it was over with that. They had stood in the hallway for a moment, in silence. When he finally had to adjust the strap of his backpack, they fell out of a trance. She smiled at him, and before either one could say anything, he was out of the door. They were probably both more relieved than they cared to admit.

He had tried to plan how to tell Jaskier. How to tell him that he still wanted to come to the shop, more precisely to _him_. That he wanted to get to know him. But eventually, he just settled to go with the moment, Jaskier was the one doing most of the talking anyway.

What he didn’t expect was that when he came to the flower shop, Jaskier had already prepared a bouquet for him (for her, actually). Jaskier grinned at him, clearly proud of himself. He told him in detail about the flowers and that he had ordered these tiny lilac ones only for Geralt and his girl. That he had begged the wholesale merchant to get them, cause he knew they would look marvellous in this composition and how they complemented the other flowers. How he was certain that Geralt’s lady would love them.

Geralt couldn’t. He just couldn’t tell him at that moment. He felt his chest ache and his jaw clench, but he didn’t want to be the one making Jaskier’s smile vanish, to see his face darken and pity settling in his eyes. Jaskier had been on a mission to save his relationship. So he didn’t say anything.

Geralt was pleasantly surprised when Jaskier changed the topic and asked him to help build a shelf Nenneke wanted to put behind the counter. For a moment, he hoped that Jaskier had not asked him because of his bodily features but because he wanted Geralt to extend his stay. Of course, Geralt was strong, muscular and fit and he had helped Jaskier earlier with the soil sacks, which was very blatantly just making use of his strength. But building a shelf didn’t need the bodily strength that lifting 50 kg sacks needed. Jaskier could have probably done this alone. Instead, he asked Geralt. Just seconds later, though, Jaskier excused his request by saying “You know, I’m really shit in building things with my hands... I’m usually just hurting myself, so I thought when you’re here anyway…” and Geralt’s heart crumbled a bit.

Nonetheless, they built the shelf and set up the area around the counter as Nenneke had instructed Jaskier. They had a good time, they worked well together (Jaskier wasn’t as bad as he had stated), and when they were finished and said their goodbyes, Geralt was pretty sure that Jaskier actually liked his company. 

The next time he went to the shop, Geralt brought coffee. Plain black for himself, a ridiculous concoction called caramel latte for Jaskier. His stomach fluttered when Jaskier beamed at him and declared he never tasted anything better. And of course, he brought treats for Iola.

* * *

They fell into a rhythm like that. Geralt came to the flower shop each Friday afternoon, making an effort not to work over hours on these days. Jaskier always had a bouquet ready, though they made the exchange quick and soon concentrated on other topics. Geralt made it a habit to bring something with him, usually coffee. But on one of the first sunny days, he felt adventurous and stopped by a small gelateria. He brought a selection of fruity ice creams, topped with whipped cream and fresh strawberries for Jaskier and dark chocolate with brittle chips for himself. Jaskier was delighted. He made Geralt try the different varieties, feeding him from his spoon as if it was the most common thing to do, sending Geralt’s insides aflutter in a way that had nothing to do with the ice cream.

When Jaskier had customers, Geralt cuddled with Iola or made himself useful in the shop, building wooden plant tubs or carrying things around. Soon, Nenneke got a sense for his visits and left instructions for Jaskier for his Friday shifts that would be fulfilled by Geralt. When there were no customers, they sat together on the bench under the tree, Iola at their feet, and Jaskier talked about music, about flowers and how he loved living in the city. He inquired Geralt about his work, how the training was evolving, how the puppies were doing. He worried with him over Roach’s life when she got worse and gave him flowers for Triss when she was finally out of the woods. They shared previously meaningless stories of their everyday life. They just never touched the topic of partners or relationships. 

Especially not after Geralt overheard some girls at work talking about him. He had told Triss about his break-up and she had made such a fuss about it that one of the assisting girls caught wind and the news travelled like wildfire. Geralt wondered why his private life would be so interesting until he heard Amanda talking in the storage room and another girl answering: “I always wondered how anyone could live with him. I mean, look at him, imagine that brute in bed.” She laughed, “I bet he got mange or something. Yikes. I don’t know what took her so long, maybe he pressured her to stay or so… I’m just happy for her that she got away.” Geralt’s blood ran hot and dots danced in front of his eyes. He quickly made his way to the outside grounds and gulped in the fresh air. He drowned himself in work that day. Going the extra mile. He was extra gentle with the dogs - well he always was, but he might have given a second and third treat where one would have sufficed. He couldn’t bear the thought of Jaskier thinking along those lines.

And then, on one of the first warm evenings, Geralt finally met Nenneke. He was sitting on their bench with Jaskier long after the other shop owners had closed down. Geralt had placed one boot on the seat, his arm on the back of the bench, leaning towards Jaskier and following his hands with his eyes as he told a story about one of his first gigs, arms wide, gesturing wildly. When Jaskier finally finished his pompous movements and leaned in to whisper something, he let his hand rest on Geralt’s knee. He didn’t move it away when the story was over. Geralt found it quite distracting, he could only concentrate on the warm touch of Jaskier's fingers through his jeans. Geralt craved these deliberate touches, this invasion of his personal space Jaskier had slowly begun. 

They were startled when a resolute elderly woman appeared at the front of the shop and immediately started scolding Jaskier. “Boy, why aren’t you on your way to The Limerick’s yet? It’s almost seven, you will be late! There won’t be so many opportunities like this one, don’t treat your future so poorly!” Jaskier staggered to his feet and cursed shamelessly. 

Only now, the women seemed to notice Geralt. Her eyes went soft when she smiled at him. “You must be Geralt. I am Nenneke, the aunt of this useless brat. Come on, Jaskier, you have to go _now_!”

Jaskier looked lost. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! I have missed the bus by now, and if I take my bike, I will still be too late - not to mention sweaty and out of breath. _Fuck._ ”

Geralt rose. “Jaskier.”

“I’m sorry, Geralt, but I really have to go now.” Jaskier snapped, still rooted to the place.

“Jaskier! I have my bike parked in the street, I can give you a lift! I even have a spare helmet.”

“No, you really should go home. It’s late, you have to be home.”

“Don’t argue, just get your stuff and we’ll be on our way.”

Nenneke petted Geralt’s arm and mouthed a “Thank you” while she ushered Jaskier inside. He came back with a backpack and his guitar case thrown over his back.

They made their way across town unharmed, the traffic was light on a Friday evening. Geralt could feel Jaskier fidgeting behind him - rubbing his torso against Geralt’s back - and wondered if he was nervous because of his gig, or the motorcycle ride, or their closeness - though the latter might have been him projecting his own feelings on Jaskier, cause Jaskier seemed to never get nervous about being close to him or touching him. His knee still tingled when he thought back to Jaskier’s lingering touch. He tried to ignore Jaskier’s current restlessness the same way he tried to ignore his arms around his waist. While stopping at a traffic light, he growled “Stay calm,” but wasn’t sure if Jaskier had heard him.

He obviously did, the whole-body-fidgeting stopped. Unfortunately, Jaskier began to move his fingers instead. The fingers that lay across Geralt’s abdomen, only separated through soft cotton from his skin. Jaskier rubbed and circled on his flesh and he wasn’t even sure if it was a conscious movement or just his subconscious overtaking in times of stress. Geralt, on the other hand, was very aware of the movements and it was impossible for him to ignore them. The few miles to the pub where Jaskier was performing stretched into eternity. 

Geralt hadn’t wanked since the break-up. He had thought about Jaskier, his chest, his mouth, his fingers. Often. But he hadn’t laid a hand on himself. He didn’t trust himself to stop it there and what was beginning to build with Jaskier was too precious to throw away in an ill-timed attempt to get laid. Plus, he was always reminded that he still wasn’t entirely honest with him which proved to dampen the mood most certainly. In spite of that, he knew that the memory of fingertips painting circles on his body was bound to keep him up at night. If they only would travel further down, if they only would slip under his shirt and touch his skin... 

Geralt was relieved when they reached the pub, though his heart clenched when Jaskier jumped up from the seat behind him and left him with quickly cooling imprints of his embrace. He tossed the spare helmet in Geralt’s lap and ran inside, yelling “Thank you so much! You saved my ass!” over his shoulder.

Geralt would have gone inside, would have accompanied Jaskier and helped him prepare for his gig. Only, he felt dismissed. Jaskier didn’t invite him to come, so he didn’t follow him. Geralt drove back to his empty flat, realising on the way Jaskier must have thought about him being expected at home by a loving lady. _Fuck_ , he really had to get this out of the world.

* * *

Jaskier had been strung-out when Geralt arrived at the shop the following week, fingers restlessly rubbing against the fabric of his red shirt, red Chucks tensely tapping on the floor. So Geralt figured this wasn’t the time to confess. He even asked if he should go, but Jaskier explained that he had another gig this evening he was quite nervous about. Rumour had it big names were attending the session and just now he had left his backpack at home with all the stuff he needed and how he couldn’t cycle home to retrieve it cause he had to fulfil an order for the shop, but that somebody would bring it over hopefully early enough. And no, it was not necessary that Geralt would drive to his flat, somebody would come. He remained jumpy though. 

Geralt sat himself cross-legged next to Iola’s bed. He breathed deeply in and out a few times, letting calmness settle over him as if he were working with a jittery dog. Iola laid her head in his lap, he massaged her back and did nothing but breathe. Jaskier was unusually silent while working on some flower arrangements, but his movements became calmer eventually.

He was almost back to his usual self when the doorbell rang and a guy walked in with Jaskier’s backpack slung over his shoulder. Jaskier immediately jumped at him and hugged him tightly. “Cheri, there you are! I was worried you wouldn’t make it in time or that something had happened. I’m so grateful you’re here!” 

The other guy, without letting go of Jaskier, lifted his head and - Geralt’s mind halted to a stop - kissed him, right on the mouth. “Jask,” he replied, “you know I’ll always help you if I can.” 

Geralt rose to his full height, leaving an offendedly huffing Iola on the floor and cleared his throat. He knew he could be intimidating and he played this card deliberately. The two men broke apart, Jaskier biting his lip - not quite meeting his gaze. The other man was smiling at Geralt, unfazed - his arm still around Jaskier’s waist. 

“Hi, there! So you must be Geralt.” His smile grew saucy and he dipped his head to mock-whisper in Jaskier’s ear, “God, Jask, I see what you meant.” He placed another kiss, this time on Jaskier’s cheek. “Have to hurry, have a great evening! Break a leg!” He let go of Jaskier and while walking to the door, he turned again and winked at Geralt.

“What was _that_?” Geralt growled through gritted teeth as soon as the door fell shut. He knew he had no right to feel as cold inside his chest as he did. Still, he had to curl his fingers into fists to stop his hands from trembling.

“Geralt, that was Cheri… He is a friend, he brought me my things. Don’t be offended, he likes to flirt.”

“ _Cheri?_ A _friend?_ _Flirt?_ You kissed him!”

Jaskier’s expression had been surprised bordering on amused but with Geralt’s last words, his face darkened. “Is that a problem?” He had started to rub his fingers again, but his stance was broad.

“I… I thought you were… you told me you had no partner.” Geralt’s throat felt constricted. 

Jaskier raised his chin, his voice now low and cold. “We never actually had that conversation. You never bothered to ask, you just assumed. Besides, I have no partner. We are friends. We bang each other sometimes, though, if and when we both feel like it.”

Geralt tried to comprehend his words. He tasted the bitterness of envy on his tongue. He knew rationally he had no justification to be jealous. In fact, he should be happy. He had had no idea if Jaskier was interested in men. He had suspected so much, but without any proof, his wish could have been the father of the thought. So instead of feeling relieved - Jaskier had even stated that he was actually single - Geralt felt the foul but familiar creeping of insufficiency along his spine. If this young bubbly handsome guy next door was Jaskier's type, Geralt wouldn't have any chance with him anyway.

“You _what_?”

An ugly grin contorted Jaskier’s face: “I bed men. Is _that_ a problem?”

Geralt bared his teeth: “No, no, it’s not. What _is_ a problem though, is that you lied to me.”

 _Oh fuck._ That was as far from the truth and as close to home as it could be. Before he could sort out his thoughts, sort out his feelings, or say anything worse, he bolted for the door, not looking back. He crossed the place in long strides, trying desperately not to run. It was only when he reached his Ducati that he realised he had forgotten his helmet. He had the spare one that Jaskier had worn last week still in his bag, so he put it on and as he drove onto the street, he realised that choosing this helmet had been a mistake. Not his first today, though. He was engulfed by the smell of Jaskier, by his cologne, his sweat. He might have driven a little too fast to escape that smell. He might have drunk a little too much that night to escape that day.

Waking up bleary-eyed and tense on the sofa, he stared at the ceiling and tried to grasp the thoughts and feelings that were running through his brain. He cursed himself. He saw flashes of Jaskier’s face before his eyes, grinning at him, soil smeared half across his cheek while he was potting plants. Jaskier’s face smiling warm and mild at him when Geralt talked about the puppies, especially Roach who he grew really fond of. Jaskier’s face, beaming at the other man called by a french endearment. Jaskier’s face, hardened in anger, hurt shining in his eyes. And Geralt was frightened. He wondered if his improper reaction, his over-reaction, had thrown away that wonderful connection that they started to share. He was frightened of what the following weeks looked like for him without the visits to the flower shop. If nothing else, the prospect of seeing Jaskier at the end of the week made him wade through bad days almost effortlessly. 

It was excruciating to lift himself up from the sofa. He would have given almost anything for another bottle of whisky and the possibility to stay there and do nothing but marinate in his heart-ache. He showered cold. The ice-cold water dampened his raging thoughts and let them spiral down to one duty. He had to set things right with Jaskier. Maybe he couldn’t take back what he had said, what he had implied. But he could at least apologise. And get that fucking secret out. What came of it, he had to see, but he didn’t want to live with that guilt anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere in the middle of this chapter, the angst begins (around the second horizontal break line). If you want to set yourself in the mood, give Johnny Cash's _Hurt_ a listen. I had it on repeat while writing.
> 
> Just a quick heads up, the next update could take until later on Sunday or even Monday, I'm away on that weekend and don't know when I'll be able to post.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt apologises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your comments! You're giving me life! <3 It's really fun to be on this journey with you :)  
> And for those desperate about the angst: thank Hedwig-Dordt that it wasn't a lot worse ;)

“Geralt, my dear!”, Nenneke opened when he arrived at the shop. “I’m sorry, Jaskier isn’t here today. But I saw you left your helmet yesterday, here to fetch it?” 

He nodded and cleared his throat, “Could you… I mean, I need to see him. Now. I don’t know where he lives. Would you give me his address?”

“You don’t know, dear?” Nenneke looked surprised. “Oh. Yes, sure, I will guide you to his flat. May I ask, has something happened?”

Geralt sighed, “We had a fight, yesterday.”

“Oh no, you poor boys, I hope nothing serious. Can I help you somehow?”, Nenneke asked and reached out to pat Geralt’s arm.

“No, not exactly. It is I who has to apologise, I think.”

“Oh dear… I’ll make you the perfect bouquet with pink and purple carnations to go with the apology! Flowers will help, trust me.”

Geralt nodded and tried not to think about how the last time someone said this to him, it led to a break-up.

* * *

Geralt made his way to the address Nenneke had provided. The moment he parked the Ducati in front of the curb, a young man with a familiar face came out of the building. Seeing Geralt, the man’s face set to stone and anger flashed in his eyes. Geralt cursed. This would have been difficult enough without running into _this guy_ again. He took off his helmet and dismounted, using the few seconds to brace himself against the onslaught he was sure to come.

“You fucking coward!”, he was greeted, “How dare you come to his home! You have the nerve to come after him? How dare you, you wimp, accuse Jask of lying to you while you are the one feeding him lies for weeks!” Geralt was stunned. The man continued, calmer now that he noticed Geralt wasn’t up for a fight. “Surprised? Yeah, I know Yen, and I know that you two broke up weeks ago. I only realised you were the one Jask has been speaking about non-stop when I saw you yesterday and everything fell into place. You!” he pointed one finger at him, fury only barely restrained, “You have been single for weeks and you are holding him on arm’s length for whatever reason. You are playing with him and hurting him!”

Geralt scrambled for words, looking down, defeated. He almost dropped the flowers and his helmet due to the numbness that was spreading through his limbs. He hadn’t been aware that his words, more precisely his lack of words, had had such an impact on Jaskier. To be fair, he hadn’t dared to hope that he could be more to Jaskier than an annoying customer who brought coffee and was there for a bit of help and a nice chat afterwards. Jaskier had become more to _him_ , that much was suddenly obvious. 

He almost jumped when the man patted his arm. “Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him. I didn’t want to break his heart, that’s your task. I’ll be here to pick up the pieces if need be, which I hope not. I thought you might be a nice guy, for once, after what he told of you. And I see you brought flowers, that’s a start. Now,” he shoved him towards the building, “get the fuck in and apologise, you bastard!”

The young man opened the front door and ushered Geralt up to the second floor where he opened the door to a flat. Guitar tunes flew around them into the stairwell immediately. The guy let his hand rest on Geralt’s shoulder for a moment, then ran down the stairs again.

Geralt stepped into the small hallway and let the door click shut. The floor was covered in piles of different coloured chuck trainers, backpacks and jackets next to a cupboard Geralt assumed to contain even more shoes. He made his way through to the room to the left, where the guitar music was coming from. He made no effort to be quiet and stopped in the doorframe, a greeting on his lips that he forgot about when he saw Jaskier.

He was sitting on the couch, one bare foot tucked under his jeans-clad thigh, the other dangling off the edge. He was hugging the guitar in his lap, caressing her strings and Geralt finally understood the phrase of the gently weeping guitar. Jaskier’s lips moved, though his singing was inaudible. Geralt just stood and watched him play until the song was over. Jaskier was quiet for a moment, then he shook his head and moved, placing the guitar next to him on the sofa and looked up at Geralt.

Jaskier’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He looked utterly vulnerable for a second until he schooled his features again and crossed his arms as if he was hugging himself. “I thought you were Cheri. What are _you_ doing here?” His voice was flat, his lips pressed together, forming a thin line.

Geralt’s expression hardened in response. It felt like he was wearing a mask, itching on his skin, and he wanted nothing more than to rip it off and lay bare what was hidden underneath in front of Jaskier. He crossed the room tentatively, numbly aware of the flowers and his helmet still in his hands. He placed both on the coffee table among newspapers and books and held his hands in front of him, open, in a placating gesture. 

“I came to apologise. I brought you flowers.” He nodded in the direction of the small table.

Jaskier smiled fondly at them. “I’ll thank Nenneke later.”

Geralt huffed a laugh, grateful for the lighter tone. He wanted to lose the position of an uninvited supplicant in the middle of the room and stepped closer to Jaskier. The second seat of the couch was blocked by the guitar, so he settled down to his knees in front of him, and due to his height and Jaskiers slouched posture, he could look him straight in the eye.

“Jaskier. I’m sorry that I yelled at you - and for what I said. I have no explanation other than… I snapped when I saw you kissing him.”

“Why?” Jaskier held his gaze, the whole minute it took Geralt to answer.

“Well… I really thought you were single. And then you kissed another man. I felt betrayed, somehow.”

“Betrayed? Geralt, you are the one with an actual relationship, you come every week to get flowers for her. And every week I’m anxious you might not come, or worse, you might bring her and I have to see you two together. You are the one with a partner!”

Geralt shifted his weight from one knee to the other, opening his mouth and closing it again. _Fuck_ , this was the moment when everything would fall apart. “About that… Jaskier, I lied. Or rather, I didn’t tell you the whole truth. Yen and I, we broke up, about two weeks after I met you.” He took a deep breath, then added weakly: “I’m sorry.”

Jaskier’s face had been set before, now it looked like it had been chiselled from stone. His voice was flat: “Why? Why did you do that, Geralt? I thought we were friends.”

It hurt Geralt tremendously to see the pain in Jaskier’s eyes and he had no sufficient answer for his question, now less than ever. But all he could think of was Jaskier’s last word. _Friends_. His eyes began to sting but he had to keep looking at him, he had to show Jaskier his face, to make it clear that there was nothing he was hiding anymore.

“You did?”

Jaskier nodded slowly. “I did…” He sighed and buried his face in his hands for a moment. When he looked up again, his face was determined. “I still do, Geralt.” 

Geralt’s eyes burnt. He felt the wetness of his tears on his cheeks in the same moment he heard Jaskier’s gasp. “C’mere, it’s okay, we’ll sort it out. C’mere!”

Jaskier scrambled to get the guitar out of the way, but Geralt just scurried closer on his knees and laid his head on Jaskiers thigh, hugging him tightly. Jaskier’s hand was instantly in his hair as if it belonged there. He stroked Geralt’s hair, caressed his scalp and hummed a soothing tune. And Geralt wept. It was nothing big, no sobs, no cries, just the silent running of tears. Nevertheless, Geralt felt as open and bare as he had never felt before. Remarkable was that he also felt safer than ever before.

They held the position for a long time even after his tears subsided. Finally, Jaskier stirred and broke their embrace, stroking down Geralt’s shoulder blades reassuringly. 

“Look at me,” he said softly and Geralt looked up. Jaskier’s face was soft, his eyes shiny, but his expression was still decisive and his voice was firm. “When have you last eaten?”

Geralt contemplated the question, but apparently it took him too long to provide a sufficient answer. 

“Yeah, I figured as much. I’ll order us some food, is mediterranean okay for you?”

Geralt nodded. Jaskier went to the hallway, his bare feet tapping on the floor, a wet stain on the right leg of his jeans. Geralt heard him talking on the phone, then rummaging somewhere in another room. When he came back, he brought a box of tissues, a bottle of water, two mugs and a water-filled vase for the flowers. He handed the box and a mug to Geralt, filled it with water, stated “Drink up” and busied himself, clearing the coffee table, placing the vase with the flowers back on top, and finally removing the guitar from the sofa. 

“Come up here, Geralt”, he prompted, while taking the newly free seat. Geralt pushed himself up, kicked off his boots and settled into the cushions, still warm where Jaskier had sat minutes before. 

“Okay, listen,” Jaskier continued, “we have a few minutes until the food arrives. I would like to talk this through and then never hear of it again, okay?” Geralt nodded. “Good, then fill me in. I know you don’t really like to talk, but I’m afraid you have to. Otherwise we will just spiral further down into this rabbit hole. Take your time. I’m here. I want to understand and I want to make this work. But no more lies, agreed?”

“The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

Jaskier grinned lopsidedly. “Exactly.”

And so Geralt talked. It wasn’t easy, he was so used to bottle everything up, but he had also accustomed to speak to Jaskier. To trust his open eyes which were never closed in boredom or disdain. “I’m sorry I fucked up. I wanted to tell you… that I had left her, right away. Our relationship wasn’t good. It should never have been more than an extended one night stand, if I’m really honest with myself. I had just picked up my stuff from her flat when you had ordered those special flowers only for me. You looked so delighted, you looked so proud. I didn’t want to spoil it. After that… there was no right time and somehow… did you even notice I didn’t take flowers the last few times?”

“Yeah.. it was odd. I wondered… but then again, I was just happy that you still came in, so I didn’t want to question it.” 

“So… there’s really nothing more to tell.”

Jaskier let himself slumb back into the cushions, drawing his feet up on the seat. “Well… I guess then we have to talk about Cheri, do we?”

“Do you have to call him that?”

“Cheri? But that’s his name! You will call him by it, too!”

“I doubt it.”

“No, really, everybody calls him that. His real name is… hard to pronounce. You have to ask him, I forgot it. But it doesn’t matter, it’s no endearment, it doesn’t mean anything.”

Geralt huffed disbelievingly. “You said you screw each other?”

“Yeah… we do sometimes. But that’s nothing serious either. You see, Cheri is a friend, a good friend. He was one of the first people I met when I dived into the scene, the night clubs... when I came out. He showed me a lot, he protected me. I’ll be grateful forever. But that’s it. Besides, Cheri is the opposite of a faithful lover. He just… loves everybody. And he likes to share it.”

Geralt let the scenes in the shop and on the curb play out in his mind and tried to interpret them with the new information he had. “He cares very much about you. I was a fool to jump to conclusions. I just… am not used to affectionate behaviour.”

Jaskier’s eyes went dark for a moment. “It’s okay.” He sighed. “I guess we both were fools sometimes. Let’s just talk with each other and be honest, yes?”

Geralt nodded, but Jaskier didn’t seem pleased. He narrowed his eyes and prompted him with a small tap of his bare toes against his thigh. Geralt replied, “Yes, Jask.” Jaskier didn’t withdraw his foot and its presence spread warmth through Geralt’s body. He had craved to resume his position to Jaskier’s feet the moment they were seated separately on the sofa, but this small area of contact felt good too. It could be the promise of more.

The food arrived only moments later and Jaskier came back from the door with his arms full of small containers that he placed on the coffee table. He laughed: “Maybe I have overestimated a bit, I hope you have a good appetite!” He produced two forks out of his back pocket and sat down in exactly the same position as he had before, feet on the seat, one of them pressed against Geralt’s thigh. Geralt sighed. 

Jaskier checked the numbers written on the boxes and dove for the 23. “Here, you have to try these, they are amazing!” Instead of tossing the box to Geralt, he forked a stuffed vine leaf and bit it in half. He closed his eyes and moaned before he offered the other half to Geralt. Geralt hesitated briefly due to this intimate gesture before he was reminded by Jaskier’s toe digging into his thigh that he should soon get used to these. So he scurried forward and bit the other half from Jaskier’s fork and immediately knew why Jaskier was keen on them. They had just the right balance between garlic, salt and herbs. Not only the vine leaves, everything Jaskier had ordered was delicious and Geralt enjoyed this dinner-in-the-middle-of-the-afternoon more than he had anything for a long time. He soon dropped his reservations and let himself be fed every other fork by Jaskier. 

They soon fell into their conversational pattern and talked long after they finished their meal. Jaskier was acting normal, like he had genuinely forgiven Geralt or at least wasn’t holding any grudge. Geralt struggled to accept it but tried to go with the ease and softness Jaskier provided. Finally, he found the courage to ask what was worrying in the back of his mind since the last evening: “Jaskier, you had this important gig yesterday evening? Did you go? How did it go?” 

Jaskier laughed. “Yeah, I went, and honestly it was the best thing I could do, even if I felt… not good after you left. But I performed a new song I’ve written recently and it kind of hit the vibe. They were excited! They have an open stage again next week and invited me to come.” Geralt was relieved and felt his worries subside. It was the least he could hope for not to have ruined Jaskier’s performance. 

He rubbed his eyes and tried to suppress a yawn but Jaskier noticed anyway. “It was an exhausting talk and we’re talking ever since. Maybe we should call it a day?” In order to compose himself Geralt stood up and shook his head. “No, no. I’m just...” He gestured vaguely and Jaskier prompted “Second door to the left.”

When Geralt came back from the loo he stopped in front of Jaskier’s bookshelf that occupied almost the whole space next to the living room door. It was stuffed to the brim, like there had once been an order but frequent use made it impossible to maintain it. Geralt saw old, cotton bound classics: _The Odyssey_ , _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ , _Moby Dick_ and worn-out modern paperbacks he didn’t recognise. On top cumulated magazines and notes and a whole corner was dedicated to art, fashion and of course music. One section was filled with DVDs and Blu Rays and Geralt crouched down to get a proper look. With a smile he saw _Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror_ and with a roll of his eyes _Titanic_. And then he discovered a box set that he could have mistaken for books in the first moment. He retrieved it and almost caressed the cardboard box. 

Geralt hadn’t been sure what to make of this day. He wasn’t sure what they were doing and where this was going. He had been afraid Jaskier would actually ‘call it a day’ and he felt uncertain how to proceed afterwards. But now - hopefully - he held his ticket to the continuation of this evening in his hands. He held tight to the box and stood up, only to recognise that Jaskier had been observing him the whole time. Suddenly, he felt self-conscious again, but Jaskier grinned. ”Found something you like?”

“Well, yeah. I never actually watched the Lord of the Rings Extended Edition, you know?” 

“Whaaat? Geralt, that can’t be true! I can’t let you out of this house until we sat through the whole twelve hours! Though, maybe not in one sitting.” He laughed and it was oddly easy for Geralt to join in.

They settled back on the sofa, angled away from each other, their legs folded to the back, but it took less time than the ring needed to betray Isildur until Jaskier extended his legs and sneaked one bare foot between Geralt’s folded shins. Geralt looked at him and saw that he was silently mouthing the intro speech. When Jaskier noticed his gaze his cheeks tinted a lovely rose. Geralt felt the flutter in his stomach again and realised he could get used to the feeling. He allowed himself to relax, to settle back into the cushions and enjoy the movie he knew well enough that he noticed and cherished the extended scenes. Even more, he enjoyed Jaskier’s closeness, the warmth spreading from his toes to Geralt’s calves. By the time Gandalf’s fireworks went off, a second foot had joined the first and by the time the Hobbits reached Rivendell, Jaskier’s legs were practically splayed over and between Geralt’s. 

Jaskier had been right, though. Geralt had had a tough night and an exhausting day and the familiar music and the dimming light outside the window didn’t help Geralt to stay focused. So somewhere in Moria his eyes fell shut and all he could feel were Jaskier’s soles stroking over his calves. The last thing he heard was Jaskier whispering “Fly, you fools!” before sleep overtook him.

He woke up to an unfamiliar light - Jaskier had obviously lit a lamp in the corner so Geralt wouldn’t wake up in an unexpected darkness - and felt immediately like a fool. He had crashed on Jaskier’s sofa without even asking. He had done so much wrong in these weeks since their meeting, leading to them finally talking honestly with each other, getting to know each other on a more personal level - and Geralt overstayed his welcome on the first occasion. _Fuck._ He scrambled out of the blanket he was tucked into, buried his face in his hands and took some slow, deliberate breaths to calm the rising panic in his guts. He contemplated the facts. Jaskier had obviously tucked him in (it was really odd that Geralt hadn’t woken up by then) and he had provided the light - which Geralt was ridiculously grateful for. So it could be presumed that Jaskier didn’t mind letting him sleep there. Instead of giving in to his first urge and flee like a fool, Geralt went to the hallway and located the kitchen by the open door to the left. He was greeted by a note in a squiggly writing on the counter:

_Don’t worry about falling asleep. Make yourself at home. xJ_

Geralt frowned for a second. Jaskier was extremely considerate, to a level Geralt never experienced before. A look at the clock on the oven confirmed it was 7:55, which was late enough to stay awake, but too early to wake his host on a Sunday. So he filed through the kitchen cabinets in search of coffee, brewed some and took it back to the living room. He settled back on the sofa, sipping from his cup and started the movie again at the time where the fellowship entered Moria.

He couldn’t keep his mind from wandering, though. He missed the press of Jaskier’s legs, the weight a calming sensation. They had touched the whole evening, almost the whole day. Geralt had laid his head in Jaskier’s lap, for God’s sake, and Jaskier had touched him frequently in the last weeks, but not once had there been something sexual, he realised. Jaskier’s caresses had been light, reassuring, comfortable, nowhere near the urging press of want and lust Geralt was used to in his encounters. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. But since the day before was the first time they ever actually opened up about their status, he tried not to worry. 

The credits began to roll when Jaskier stepped into the living room, all sleep-slack, hair tousled and clad in nothing but checkered boxer shorts. Geralt’s brain stopped to a halt and he thanked whoever was in charge that he couldn’t actually see anything through the soft falling fabric, and that Jaskier wasn’t wearing briefs instead. Though, the expanse of his chest and abdomen covered in dark hair did nothing to calm the blood abruptly rushing through Geralt’s body. Nothing sexual, _sure_.

Jaskier apparently didn’t notice Geralt’s situation, rubbing his eyes and cheeks, a sleepy smile on his lips. “Good morning. I hope the night wasn’t too uncomfortable there. I would have offered you my bed instead, but I didn’t want to wake you up violently when my first attempts didn’t suffice. You were really gone.”

“It’s alright.” And it was. The second night on a sofa and Geralt felt more relaxed than ever. Well, at least he would have, if Jaskier wouldn’t be standing half naked and loose-limbed in front of him right now. “I would love to take a shower, though. I didn’t want to wake you up with the running water.”

“Sure, I’ll look for a shirt that could fit you. And I’ll make breakfast. Pancakes okay?”

Geralt nodded and waited for Jaskier to leave before he headed to the bathroom, possibly walking a bit awkwardly. 

When he finished toweling himself after his shower, Geralt realised he hadn’t waited for the shirt that Jaskier had offered. He really didn’t want to wear the henley he had slept in again, so he just stepped into his jeans, foregoing the pants and tossed his worn shirt and pants next to his helmet in the living room. The moment Jaskier - he was fortunately wearing a shirt now but was still in his boxers - turned from the stove to greet him, Geralt could practically hear the screeching of the gears in Jaskier’s head. He hoped he hadn’t looked as obvious before as Jaskier was looking now. Geralt had always been self-conscious - always being tall and broad and somebody random people looked at when he entered a room, often mistreated as somebody extraneous or frightening - but he rationally knew that his body wasn’t something to be ashamed of, especially not when he had been working out. Jaskier took his time to look, his eyes flitting from Geralt’s broad chest to the defined muscles of his stomach, down to his low-riding jeans where very obviously no waistband was peaking, back up to his shoulders where his damp hair was curling and finally up to his face, silvery stubble clearly visible. Only then Jaskier had the decency to blush, his mouth opening and closing several times.

For once, Geralt was the one taking initiative: “I guess you’re the one eating _that_ pancake,” he said with a tilt of his head to the smoking pan. “You said something about a shirt?”

Jaskier jumped into action, cursing colourfully while he discarded the charred pancake and hurried to make another one, gesturing to a piece of cloth hanging over a kitchen chair. It was a grey shirt, soft and worn and Geralt held it in his hand for a moment before slipping it over his head. It was tight around his shoulders and chest, but still comfortable. Jaskier however seemed to be distracted enough by the outline of his pecs to pour syrup instead of milk into his coffee and Geralt laughed. He laughed even more as Jaskier insisted that it tasted really good and Geralt couldn’t help it. He laughed at this ridiculous situation, at their whole ridiculous history leading to this ridiculous moment. He had to hold on to the table, and when he came down from his high, he had to wipe tears from his eyes. Thoughtlessly, he used the hem of his shirt, revealing his stomach with the motion. He heard an exasperated gasp from Jaskier and willingly suppressed his laughter from bubbling up again. It wouldn’t do to offend Jaskier or make him think his admiring looks were mocked. “I’m sorry, Jask, I’m really sorry. It’s just… this should have been a total catastrophe the way things went… and yet.” 

“And yet, here we are,” Jaskier continued with a smile. “It’s okay, I’ve never seen you so… relaxed. I’m happy to make you laugh.” 

They fell into idle conversation, Jaskier doing most of the talking. Geralt’s thoughts began to jump, trying to make sense of what happened in the last 24 hours, trying to determine where they were heading, trying to figure out what he would want to happen, and at what pace. Jaskier solved Geralt’s increasing worries of what-happens-next by declaring he had to take a shower and was expected at Nenneke’s at noon. He insisted Geralt would be welcome for lunch too, but Geralt could manage to decline without sounding rude and gave his greetings to Nenneke. He retrieved his things from the living room, the easiness from before gone, and while he stepped into his boots in the hallway, he could feel anxiety creeping up his nape again, tickling at his hairline. He tried to fight it down, rubbing at his neck, when Jaskier appeared next to him, holding a note. “Here is my number. Please call. Or text. I’m looking forward to seeing you on Friday - you will come, won’t you? - but I would really really love to see you before that.” He smiled genuinely, those big blue eyes open and trusting and Geralt swallowed hard. He forced himself to take the paper, pushing it into his pocket and nodded while stepping away and out of the door. Only when he started his motorcycle, he allowed himself to breathe again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a tiny bit of light angst at the beginning of this chapter - if you'd like to dwell on it I recommend listening to the mentioned song: Kris Kristofferson (or Johnny Cash, or both of them together) - _Sunday morning coming down_.
> 
> After that, it's getting smutty :D

At home, Geralt changed his jeans into running shorts, putting on pants beforehand and dashed out of the door again. Running oftentimes helped him to get his thoughts sorted and clean. He scolded himself for slipping, for getting into his head again while Jaskier had been nothing but kind and supportive. Running through the empty sunday morning streets, he was heavily reminded of Kris Kristofferson.

_On a Sunday morning sidewalk_

_I'm wishing Lord that I was stoned_

_'Cause there's something in a Sunday_

_That makes a body feel alone_

And with that, understanding dawned on Geralt. Jaskier had been kind and supportive, yes, but he also had been hot and sexy, open and admiring and even if Geralt had laughed it off, it had stirred his ever-present demon of inadequacy to attention. The one that had been oddly quiet when he was around Jaskier lately. 

He sped up when he reached the park, let his feet thump into the grass, trying to run away from the guilt rising like bile in his throat. After what felt like an eternity of trees and lamp posts and strollers passing his view, he slumped down on a park bench, gasping for air. The shirt was drained with his sweat, but his vision was clear and his thoughts finally focused. He liked Jaskier. He wanted to spend time with him. More than stolen Friday afternoons at his workplace. Jaskier had apparently forgiven his secrecy, his lies, he was okay with starting over. He was obviously interested in Geralt as a person, and likely in his body, too. And there was the crux. Geralt had made the experience that whenever carnal cravings were the first motivator - as they had been with Yen, but also several people before her - the relationship turned stale sooner rather than later. And he didn’t want to repeat that experience, especially not with Jaskier. So maybe that explained his inappropriate conniption and his panic afterwards. The hungry look in Jaskier’s wide-blown eyes just too much to cope. His only hope was that Jaskier wasn’t put off by his moods and probably counted his slip this morning just as his usual silent manner. He was getting mad at himself for leaving his phone at home, the urge to reach out to Jaskier suddenly overwhelming.

At his flat, Geralt grabbed his jeans and filing through the pockets to retrieve the note and his phone, he let himself fall backwards onto his bed. Before he could second guess himself again, he saved Jaskier’s number into his contacts, typed and hit ‘send’.

Me: Hello. It’s Geralt.

He stared at his phone for three full minutes until he threw it on his pillow and stared at the ceiling instead. Of course Jaskier wasn’t sitting with his phone in hand waiting for Geralt to text. He was probably still at his aunt’s. Or out with that guy. Two minutes later, Geralt scrambled up the bed, checking his phone again. No text. He buried his face in his pillow, desperately trying not to overreact and literally jumped when his phone chirped.

Jaskier: _Hello there. So glad you texted! Never would’ve thought you were written with a T, though. ;-) How are you?_

Geralt took a deep breath. Jaskier did reply. Now the hard part was to keep the conversation going. On the one hand, it was easier for him to talk via text, he could think about his answers, hide behind the text, his face wasn’t on display, there were no distractions. On the other hand it was so much harder, cause he didn’t get any feedback other than the text. The other person could think and do heaven knows what while texting him. Or not reading his text. Or reading and not replying. So, carrying the conversation with honest but vague answers? What a plan.

Me: I’m fine, just knocked out.

Before he could send a ‘How about you?’ his phone chirped again.

Jaskier: _Oh no, what happened?_

Me: Went for a run in the park.

Jaskier: _I figured you do such things._

Me: Overdone it a bit today. Probably outdone my time by minutes, but I didn’t track it. 

Jaskier: _Do you need something?_

Me: Just a shower.

Jaskier: _Second shower for you? Second breakfast for Merry, Pippin and me!_

Me: You’re a nerd and I’m soaked in sweat, seems legit. By the way, I’ll wash your shirt before returning it. Don’t worry.

Jaskier: _Don’t!_

Jaskier: _I mean_

Jaskier: _I don’t worry._

The texts came in quick succession, his phone practically buzzing in his hand. Did Jaskier… did he actually want his shirt back the way it was? Geralt looked down at himself, the light grey fabric of the shirt turned dark around his neck and down his chest. He began to cool and should be out of his clothes soon anyways, so he pulled the shirt out over his head, and pressed it against his face. It was damp and cool, kind of refreshing. He took a deep breath, imagining Jaskier in the same position, and a rush of heat pooled in his belly. The shirt smelled only faintly of his fresh sweat, the underlying scent of Jaskier’s laundry detergent was much stronger. 

Me: It still smells like you, though.

Had that been too much information? He was torn between keeping his distance and rekindling the spark that clearly had been there this morning. He felt braver now, not being observed but Jaskier’s scent all around him.

Jaskier: _How can you tell when you’re wearing it?_

There was his opening. Geralt counted backwards from 10. It still felt like a good idea. Maybe silly, maybe laughable, but a silly idea had brought him to this situation in the first place and Jaskier wouldn’t take the first step, he was way too considerate.

Me: Well, I’m not wearing it anymore.

Geralt buried his face in the fabric again.

Jaskier: _Not? Tell me more._

Thank God, Jaskier took his offer.

Me: What should I tell you? You’ve seen for yourself.

Jaskier: _I haven’t seen nearly enough, not long enough._

Jaskier: _Also, I’d like more._

Me: Such as?

Jaskier: _Touch?_

Geralt took some steadying breaths. He had played his cards. Now it was time to deliver. He flopped onto his back again and raised a hand to his chest, but halted mid-way. They had time. And he had nerves.

Me: Where would you like to touch?

Jaskier: _Oh my, everywhere?_

Jaskier: _I saw that scar on your left shoulder. I would trace it down with my fingertip until it disappears in your chest hair. There I would sprawl out my fingers, rubbing slightly, before…_

Jaskier: _Please tell me when you get uncomfortable, just tell me to stop!_

Geralt smiled at this. Always so solicitous.

Me: Do you want to stop?

Jaskier: _Hell no. Also, I am writing this under Nenneke’s lunch table… jfyi._

Me: Then do go on. My hand wants to know what you’d do next.

Jaskier: _...before I’d brush my fingers over your left nipple. Softly. Just a tease at first._

Jaskier: _Then getting stronger, circling, rubbing. Pinching a little. A bit more?_

Geralt closed his eyes as his fingers followed Jaskier’s motions, trailing over his chest and brushing over his nipple. He had never really paid attention to his nipples and neither had his partners. It was a strange feeling at first, he was almost shying away from it when he felt his flesh tighten, his skin tingling. He pinched it a little, experimentally, and then, remembering Jaskier’s text, a bit harder. He drew in a breath and rubbed at the sensation, pinching almost immediately again. His cock, half-interested from the moment he had taken off his shirt, grew hard and Geralt was motioning to adjust himself when his phone chirped again.

Jaskier: _Geralt?_

Me: Yeah, sorry… Bit harder’s nice.

Jaskier: _I’ll keep that in mind. Good, my fingers stay right there. I’ll start to kiss your neck, right below your right ear. Licking down your chest until I reach your right nipple. I’ll kiss you there, sucking lightly._

Geralt noticed the change in Jaskier’s tense with a shiver. He took the index and middle finger of his right hand into his mouth and licked and sucked them, getting them wet. That alone made his cock twitch. He trailed his damp fingertips down his throat, imagining it would be Jaskier’s tongue. Reaching his nipple, he circled it and then mirrored the motion he did with his left hand before, pinching his hardening flesh with thumb and index finger. Lightly first, not letting go and increasing the pressure, shifting his angle a little and sinking his fingernails into his flesh. He moaned, then scrambled for his phone.

Me: Bite me.

Me: Bite me there.

Jaskier: _Fuck, Geralt. I almost dropped my teacup. I’m getting funny looks from Nenneke’s church friends._

Me: You aren’t there alone?

Jaskier: _No, that’s her price for supporting me. They’re all quite nice and pamper me with biscuits, though._

Jaskier: _Can we get back to the topic at hand now, please?_

Jaskier: _I’ll suck until your nipple is hard and wet against my lips, then grate my teeth over it to give you a taste, pinching your left nipple first and before you recover, biting down on your right one._

Geralt gasped reading the text and groaned while he followed Jaskier’s words with his fingertips and -nails. They hadn’t even really started and he was worked up already, his cock straining against the refines of his shorts.

Jaskier: _The noises you’ll make._

Me: The noises I’m making…

Jaskier: _God, Geralt, I’m so hard for you._

Jaskier: _Are you?_

Me: Hell, yeah.

Jaskier: _Are you touching yourself?_

Me: Not there. Yet. 

Jaskier: _Keep it that way._

Me: I’ll only follow your lead.

Jaskier: _Oh fuck._

Geralt tried to imagine Jaskier sitting at his aunt’s, sporting an uncomfortable hard-on, thinking about him while he was trying to seem engaged in a conversation with those old ladies. It was adorable. And fucking hot. Geralt had begun to sweat again, his skin feeling tingly all over and he had the strong urge to reach for his cock. But he had just given a promise to Jaskier, so he bit his lip instead, and thought of something to keep Jaskier going. 

Me: I’ll arch my back, pressing myself into your touch. My hips are moving towards you. I’ll start to fidget beneath you, needing more.

Jaskier: _My hand trails down your stomach, skimming through your hair. Brushing over your hip, moving to your thigh, circling in and in and in._

Geralt got up briefly, toeing off his sneakers and discarding his shorts and pants. He let himself fall back on the bed and let his hand glide the way Jaskier described, painting swirls and circles with his fingertips right next to his groin. He looked down at himself. His skin was flushed, his cock hard and leaking, his hand only inches away. He could just… If Jaskier would…

Me: Please touch me, Jask, please.

Geralt started rubbing the crease where his thigh met his abdomen like he sometimes did when he was pleasuring himself. His hip was answering his touches with undulating motions. He was growing desperate while waiting for Jaskier’s reply. He raised the hand he was still clutching his phone with when it began to vibrate, but instead of the little chirping text alarm, it was still vibrating when he looked at it. Jaskier was _calling_. Geralt suppressed the rush of anxiety that was threatening him by this unpredictable turn and answered the call before he could think twice. He heard a thump and then another, the ruffling of fabric and then Jaskier’s breath ghosting over the phone.

“Fuck, Geralt, I’m--- I’m sorry, I couldn’t… fuck, I want to touch you so badly. Touch yourself for me, okay?” Jaskier’s voice was hoarse. He spoke hushed and was interrupted by his own panting.

“I do, Jask, please… tell me.”

Jaskier moaned and a shiver ran down Geralt’s spine in anticipation. “Reach for your balls, dear. Slowly, slowly, I feel the urge too, but let’s not rush this.”

Geralt was a tang disappointed, but he followed through and gasped as his fingertips brushed the soft skin of his balls. 

“Yes, that’s good. Roll them in your hand, caress them. Feels good?”

Geralt clenched his teeth. The combination of his own touches and Jaskier’s breathy instructions was electrifying. It riled his arousal up to unknown heights. His hips arched up into his touch, searching for friction in the right spot that he could give oh so easily but that he refused himself for reasons he couldn’t grasp right now. “Good, yes. More… need more.”

Jaskier chuckled darkly. “I know, hun, I know. My cock is weeping for you just from listening to you. God, the things you do to me, Geralt! Okay, I can’t restrain myself any longer anyways. Next time, you hear me, next time I’ll worship you and make you feel this good for hours.” Jaskier took a shuddering breath. 

Geralt was panting so loud by now, he had to press the phone against his ear to get every bit of Jaskier’s words and sounds. Geralt’s free hand was still roaming his groin, his thighs, his balls, caressing and stroking, never enough. “Jaskier.”

“Touch your cock now, Geralt. Hmnng, stroke yourself for me.” Jaskier’s voice had gone deep and dark. Geralt could hear fabric ruffling and the distant sound of skin on skin in time with Jaskier’s increasing inhales. Geralt envisioned Jaskier taking his cock out of his jeans, a new wave of arousal racing through him, and quickly reached for his own. He groaned when his hand finally encircled his length and allowed himself some faster strokes before he slowed down to listen to Jaskier and revel in the sounds he was making.

“Do you do a twist at your crown? Or do you like to press on your slit on the way up? Do you tighten your grip when you push into your fist? Oh God, I’d love to see you now.”

Geralt tried the motions Jaskier had prompted and quickly settled for increased pressure. He felt the urge for more, more, more. “The – latter. All are good – but – need-”

“Yes, Geralt, don‘t hold back, fuck your fist. Oh God, Geralt, fuck--”

And with that, Geralt lost his last restraints, he gripped tight and pumped his cock in earnest, quick and clean, pressing his heels into the mattress. His breathing was ragged and echoed in the room, but he only concentrated on Jaskier’s erratic panting coming through the speaker. He felt his orgasm quickly building at the base of his spine when Jaskier moaned: “Close, Geralt, I’m so close. Are you with me?”

He could only groan in return but it was all Jaskier needed. He was chanting Geralt’s name, the sound of slapping skin coming to a crescendo that pushed Geralt over the edge himself, hot come spilling over his heaving chest and stomach. He was moaning deeply, riding out his aftershocks when he realised Jaskier was completely silent. _Fuck._ Was he having second thoughts so soon?

“Jask? Is everything okay?”

Geralt was surprised by an answering giggle and his heart melted with relief. “God, yes, everything is fine! That was… that was fucking brilliant!”

A knock on wood startled them both. Nenneke’s voice was urgent: “Jaskier, darling, are you okay? You behaved strangely and we’re beginning to worry.”

Geralt could hear Jaskier giggle once more. He shouted: “Everything’s fine, I’ll be back in a minute!” and then whispered, “I’m so sorry, I gotta go. Are you okay?” 

“Absolutely.” 

“Great, I’ll get back to you later! Bye… and thank you.”

Geralt stayed on his bed for what felt like hours. His breathing had returned to a normal level, his come and sweat were cooling uncomfortably but he didn’t move. His mind was unusually calm. He would have expected - if he had foreseen this outcome - that there would have been a meltdown in its wake but the more he revisited their texting and phone call, the happier he felt. He knew, he always knew that there could be pain on the way. But for once, he refused to dwell on it. 

* * *

Jaskier checked in with him. Twice. Once in the afternoon via text. Yes, everything was still okay. And then his phone rang again at about 10 p.m., presumably when Jaskier wanted to go to bed. Jaskier apologised for not calling earlier and told him about his day helping Nenneke with stuff for her house and for the shop. Then, when Geralt almost thought he wouldn’t mention their encounter at all, Jaskier said: “I really hope it was okay that I called you… earlier today? The last days have been an emotional roller coaster for me, and especially for you. I didn’t want to impose… but Geralt, your texts made me so horny I had to do something.” He was silent for a moment. “I had to think about it all day long.. about you. I had a boner for the better part of the afternoon. Hell, I’m getting hard now just hearing you breath! Tell me I am not alone with it… or tell me I am and I’ll back off. Just…”

Geralt chuckled. “You are not alone. In fact, I was preparing to… relive our earlier conversation when you called just now.”

Jaskier almost whined. “Tell me!”

They took it slow this time. Geralt had never been one for long phone calls, let alone phone sex, but it came naturally with Jaskier asking him what he was doing, what he liked, how it would feel if Jaskier licked around the head of his cock and sucked it into his mouth. Jaskier was as talkative as ever, and when he wasn’t talking, he moaned and gasped, though when Geralt came with a groan, Jaskier’s chant of “Yes, there, there, Geralt, I’m -” stopped abruptly. Geralt was busy catching his breath and not as concerned as he was before about the sudden silence that he could hear Jaskier slowly starting to move again, sucking in the air and shifting his phone.

When he spoke again, Jaskier’s voice was small: “I didn’t expect that, to be honest. Is this… Geralt, is this something reserved for the phone? Or do you-?”

Geralt interrupted him slightly panicked, something in his chest constricting rapidly, holding his heart in an iron grip: “No! No. Don’t get me wrong, that was a wonderful day. But I very much would like to do it in person… with you.”

He was almost certain the rumble he heard was Jaskier flopping back onto the bed in relief. He had no idea what the bed looked like, but he hoped that would change soon.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have something calm and fluffy-ish =)  
> (There is the implication of bad behaviour towards pets in the beginning, but not too graphic (I hope) and as promised, all will be well in the end!)

Whoever was in charge of the future of Geralt’s love life - and if Geralt had been a religious man he would have thought it to be a demon rather than an angel - decided to drown his hopes, though. To drown them in 38 feral, underfed and overactive cats and 21 neglected, cachectic and ill-bred dogs that were rescued from an abandoned house and brought in to the animal shelter Tuesday at noon. They unleashed hell in the shelter.

Jaskier had been busy on Monday evening, so they had set up a date for Tuesday evening, making no plans in particular. Still, Geralt felt bereft when he sent Jaskier his apologies and cancelled the date since he was certain not to leave work before midnight. They changed it to Wednesday. 

When rumours arose that there might be more animals left in the building and its properties, Geralt was chosen to accompany the search team. They were meant to leave Wednesday at 5 p.m. He managed to send a quick message to Jaskier before his manager yelled at him to hurry. Geralt cursed this turn of events, then concentrated first on the road and then on his task. After all, it had been the best decision to take Geralt with them, nobody else being able to calm down the scrawny dog that had fortified himself behind the shabby kitchen cabinets and was throwing a tantrum whenever someone came into his field of view. Anaesthesia wasn’t even an option since all that was visible of the dog were his teeth.

All in all, it took Geralt four hours and more treats than he dared to count to lure the terrier out. His colleagues had located a hidden litter of four kittens and one more dog. Geralt opted to sit in the back of the car, holding the terrier in his lap despite better judgement, not bringing it over him to set him into a dark box so soon. At the shelter, he was sent home by Triss before he could dare to help her look after the newcomers and only then he managed to have a look at his phone again.

Jaskier had sent several texts, asking about his well-being, reassuring him that it was okay that he cancelled, and finally, insisting that Geralt should call him when he got out, no matter how late or how early it would be. So Geralt called him on his way to his motorcycle, feeling a bit guilty to do so at midnight.

Jaskier seemed to be happy to hear from him, not tired at all. He proclaimed that it wasn’t possible for him to wait until Friday to see Geralt again, especially not since he had his gig that night and he would burst if anticipation and stagefright would be combined until then. Thursday afternoon and evening though, he would be busy meeting with music managers again, planning his forthcoming gigs. So he asked if it would be okay if he would come to the shelter tomorrow, to spend Geralt’s lunch break together - assuming he would have a lunch break. Geralt agreed, the prospect of seeing Jaskier in less than twelve hours lighting his nerves with sudden bliss. Jaskier exhaled sharply. “There’s one… obstacle though. If the situation would have been different I wouldn’t even mention it cause it is so normal for me but… since I have this appointment later that afternoon, I can come by bus but I have to go in time and- Cheri would come to pick me up if that’s okay with you? I really would’ve liked to talk to you in person about that again. If there is something to talk about at all. I’m really not sure how to navigate here.”

Geralt’s gut twisted by how uncomfortable he was making Jaskier. That had never been his intention. “No, there’s nothing to talk about. In fact, I hope I’ll be able to talk to him, too. I should apologise.” 

* * *

Geralt was strung tight with anticipation all morning. It was the first time seeing Jaskier since their virtual encounters and Geralt finally wanted to _touch_ and _taste_. It was the first time he was seeing Jaskier in another place than the flower shop and it was the first time he was bringing someone from his private life to work. It was no problem, visitors were common at the shelter, somehow they were the point of it all, but it still felt odd. He had wanked twice that morning to take off the edge and his skin still felt too tight. He caught himself making errors in his work, his mind wandering off to the smile he was hoping to see on Jaskier’s face. To the thought of blue eyes looking at him, blown dark with want. Geralt only just prevented a shepherd from slipping through the door. He mentally slapped himself in the face and peered at the clock. 11.50. Jaskier’s bus would arrive soon. Geralt checked his last tasks twice before he went to the locker room, washed his hands, changed his shirt and risked a look into the mirror before he made his way to the front door.

He was just in time, Jaskier was walking up the driveway, a radiant smile plastered on his face when he saw Geralt. Compared to the last time they had seen each other, Jaskier had dressed up, though that might be more for the benefit of his later appointment than for Geralt’s. He was wearing a dark red jacket over an olive green button-down shirt, accompanied by a slightly lighter red jeans and olive green chucks. A flock of butterflies erupted in Geralt’s stomach while he approached him. He wasn’t sure what to do. Kiss him? Hug him? Nothing? As always, he could count on Jaskier. He reached out to pull Geralt into a warm, friendly hug, nothing too intimate for an innocent observer. Jaskier whispered: “We haven’t talked about this. I’m not sure how you stand with public displays of affection and we should probably just see how it goes… when we get used to this. But I wanted to hold you for a moment, okay?” 

Geralt nodded hesitantly. “I wasn’t sure either.”

Jaskier hummed and let go. “That’s okay. We’ll figure it out together. Just, please, keep talking with me about how you feel.” He smiled and made a step towards the entrance. “And now, I wanna meet Roach and her brothers!”

Geralt laughed relieved and led the way. Jaskier’s cheerful nature made his stay at the shelter a delight. They strolled through the aisles, eating the sandwiches Jaskier had bought while walking, petting a dog here, sharing some stories with the workers there. Jaskier seemed genuinely interested in the background of the animals, in what everybody was doing. Geralt’s colleagues who usually didn’t bother to give him more than the time of the day - at least when there wasn’t a behavioural problem they couldn’t fix on their own - were happily chatting to Jaskier, even trying to include Geralt in their conversation, dropping hints about how good he was with the dogs and how grateful they were when he would help them. It didn’t even sound dishonest. Even the girls and foremost Amanda seemed to be smitten with Jaskier when they ran into them on the outside court. Jaskier’s demeanour changed when he noticed that Geralt hesitated to introduce them. He still seemed merry and polite but he dimmed his smile and his interest in their niceties and outright took a step back when Amanda tried to slither in between him and Geralt, letting her step into emptiness. He ushered Geralt on and finally they reached the pasture where the lanky Irish Setter siblings - so much was clear now - were playing with Triss. 

“Hey, there you are!” She waved at them, hooking her elbows over the fence. “You must be Jaskier! Geralt told me so much about you!”

“I didn’t,” Geralt said.

“Well, more than about anyone else, so it’s still counting.” Triss winked at Jaskier and slapped Geralt good-naturedly on the arm. “Thank you so much for the flowers you sent a while back. I’m Triss, by the way. I hope Geralt has shared as much with you by now.”

“He has,” Jaskier said absentmindedly, crouching down to get a better look at the tussling puppies.

“Go in, go in,” Triss insisted, opening the gate for them, and stepping outside herself. “I have to go back to work. The pets are all safe and seen to by now, but the paperwork doesn’t do itself.”

“Let me know if you need help with the re-checks later,” Geralt offered.

“I’ll sure do. Would be best if you at least come with me to the homicidal terrier,” she said with a smirk and made her way back to the main building.

Geralt waved after her and when he turned around again, Jaskier was lying on the grass, surrounded and climbed upon by six red furballs, trying to eat him alive. He was laughing and Geralt wished he could bottle that sound up to store away and come back to it in dark times. He let himself flop on the ground, cuddling the puppy that came crawling into his lap and just cherished the restful moment. Jaskier soon made a connection with Roach, rubbing her belly, while her brothers tried to chew off his laces or were wrestling around. 

Geralt had known that this had been stolen time, but he still felt a pang in his chest when he saw Cheri wandering towards them. “I believe we have to return to the real world, Jask,” he sighed. He summoned all his bravery and stepped out of the gate to meet Cheri while Jaskier bid farewell to the puppies with regretful eyes.

Cheri looked openly and calm at him, waiting for Geralt to speak first. “I believe we haven’t been properly introduced,” Geralt said, offering his hand in greeting, “My name’s Geralt, I met Jaskier at the flower shop.”

Cheri huffed out a laugh, gripping his hand firmly and dragging him into a brief embrace. “Thank you. I’m Chireadan. Don’t bother with the name, just call me Cheri,” he said with a wink, “I’m an old friend of Jask’s and his neighbour.”

Geralt felt captivated by his open manner immediately. He made an effort to lock up his jealousy and uncertainty and let himself be swept away by pleasant looks and calm words. He remembered Jaskier saying something on the lines of Cheri flirting with everybody and maybe that was the case - maybe he just was so open and trusting one had to reciprocate. Geralt wasn’t surprised when he learned that he was studying for his exams in psychology - or rather procrastinating at the moment - and that he had fed the stray cats in his street as a child. When Jaskier joined them - they couldn’t have talked for longer than a few minutes - he was talking with an ease with him that was almost astounding. 

Jaskier grinned, “Ah, so you both made friends already. I’m glad, though not really surprised.” He turned to Geralt and leaned in conspiratorially, “Told you, heh?” His breath ghosted over Geralt’s ear and left a trail of goosebumps, Geralt made sure to shrug off. They were approaching the main building quickly. 

Too soon, they were saying their goodbyes. Jaskier reached for his hand, pressing it tightly and whispering, “You’ll be there tomorrow, right?”

“I’ll be there. I can’t promise I’ll come to the shop earlier, but I will be at the pub, you have my word.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I'll give you a head's up about the sex part: the last two chapters will be smut with sprinkles of the rest of the story. ;)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt's first-time attendance of Jaskier's performance. And what happened afterwards ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be smut. But first, let's listen to Jaskier's gig. =)  
> For those of you who want to avoid it, the explicit stuff starts about 2/3 in, when Geralt goes out alone.

The next 24 hours were a blur of working, worrying and wanking, Geralt’s anticipation to see Jaskier finally perform and hopefully spend time afterwards riding higher and higher. He could have made it late to the shop but opted to drive home, shower and change. He didn’t know what kind of attire would be suitable, but since it was an Irish Pub and Jaskier’s music seemed to be somewhere in the folk genre, he chose a loose black shirt that Yen had always laughed at as his ‘medieval’ clothes and his black leather pants. 

The pub was already well crowded when he arrived. He saw Jaskier and Cheri busy with some equipment near the stage and decided to join them. When he tapped Jaskier on his shoulder, he literally fell into his arms, wide grin on his face. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’ll be there in a minute, have to make sure everything is ready. But there are a few others performing before me, so we could grab a drink.” Geralt noted the smudged eyeliner around his eyes, and a new attire in dark green with red details - and red Chucks, of course. But before he could say anything, Jaskier went back to rummage in his backpack. 

Cheri took his place in front of Geralt, pulling him to his chest, hugging him tightly. He held on a moment longer than Geralt would have found necessary, and whispered: “It’s good you’re here.” He let go of Geralt, turning towards the stage again but kept his right hand trailing down Geralt’s back, lingering briefly at the small of his back. The moment his fingers brushed over the leather of Geralt’s trousers and he realised it was not from a belt, he looked towards him again, smirking. “Very good,” he added with a wink.

It wasn’t unpleasant. Geralt felt weird, being so close to someone he wasn’t interested in, but there was no pressure to reciprocate, no anxiety to do something wrong creeping up his neck as he had experienced when he really wanted someone to be near him. Cheri just put him at ease, a bit cheekily, a bit too flirty for someone welcoming the new flame of his best friend, but not overstepping by definition. Jaskier’s explanation came back to his mind and he understood it better every time he met Cheri. Geralt wondered briefly how many meetings it would need until Cheri kissed _him_ on the mouth in lieu of a greeting. 

But then Jaskier approached again and a look at his lips, the lower one worried by his teeth, chased away every thought Geralt might have had about other men’s kisses. Jaskier smiled at him, taking his hand, and the three of them went to the bar to await Jaskier’s turn. There were only two empty barstools left and Geralt made it clear he was okay standing, so Cheri and Jaskier settled on the barstools. Jaskier drew Geralt in front of him, keeping him in a loose embrace, bracketed by his thighs. Geralt consciously relaxed into his touch and felt his heart flutter when Jaskier began to caress his back absentmindedly. 

It was obvious Jaskier and Cheri had been in situations like this before, probably multiple times. They kept respectfully quiet, only whispering once in a while, cheering and applauding at all the right places. Jaskier waved towards the other performers he knew and exchanged a few words with some of them. Though Geralt missed his hands the moment they were gone, they always came back to him in a heartbeat.

A few minutes before his turn, Jaskier ghosted a breath over Geralt’s temple and whispered: “Will be back in a minute.” He went to the back of the pub where Geralt assumed the toilets to be. He made idle conversation with Cheri, but his eyes were darting to the back of the pub more and more often as the time ticked away. 

“We should probably tell him to come back,” Cheri said eventually.

That was all the prompt Geralt needed. “I’ll go.”

The door in the back actually led to the backyard, a dark alley leading to the main road. Jaskier stood in the shadows, only the ember glint of a cigarette visible. He must have noticed Geralt coming out, as he pushed himself from the wall and pressed out the butt against the bricks. “Sorry, that became sort of a habit… give a shaking hand something to do.” He sighed. “I usually don’t experience huge stage fright. I actually like the rush of adrenaline performing brings. But this is so important for me, I don’t wanna fuck up.” 

Geralt stepped into his space, reaching for his hand. He raised it, brushing his lips over Jaskier’s knuckles. “Don’t think about it now.” He kissed his knuckles. “Just play for me.” He kissed his fingertips. “You will be amazing.” He turned the hand, kissed his palm and looked up at Jaskier through his lashes. “And afterwards…” He raised his head, closed the gap between them, and gave Jaskier the sweetest kiss he could muster, with just the barest hint of tongue ghosting over his lips. Jaskier’s candour made him feel bold. Jaskier smelled faintly of smoke and beer, his own scent still overpowering those. Geralt didn’t feel repulsed, instead it made Jaskier human and fragile in a way Geralt treasured, reassuring him that Jaskier was real. Geralt pressed himself briefly against Jaskier, then forced himself to step back. “We should really go in now. You’re up.”

Jaskier looked at him with wide eyes, then licked his lips and giggled breathlessly. “Geralt, you’ll be the death of me.”

Jaskier’s performance completely captivated Geralt. He didn’t sing big songs of hope and cheer, he sang ballads of fighting the monsters in the mirror, of conquering the battles of day-to-day life, of kings in makeup and queens in suits. Jaskier seemed to be one of those performers who closed their eyes during emotional passages, summoning pictures of the stories they were telling in front of their inner eye. In between though, Jaskier communicated with the audience via looks and gestures, reacting to cheers and enthusiastic fans. His gaze, though, seemed invariably drawn to Geralt. Whenever Jaskier opened his eyes, his first look was at him, whenever he closed them for a chorus, his last look lingered on him. Those looks went from tender and soft to bold and heated. He began to punctuate his words with winks and smirks, flirting via his lyrics and Geralt’s skin began to feel hot and tight. The exuberant atmosphere of the pub, the earlier kiss he could still taste on his lips, the press of bodies around him, Jaskier on display for _everyone_ yet only acknowledging _him_ , that all set Geralt on edge. The moment Jaskier raised from his barstool on the stage, placing one foot on the crossbar and canting his hips, Geralt felt the blood rush to his groin. He barely managed to bite his tongue to keep himself from moaning out loud.

When Geralt assumed the performance was coming to an end, a girl yelled: “Sing about the kiss! The kiss song!” The rest of the audience joined in. Jaskier seemed to hesitate briefly, sighing with an apologetic look towards Geralt - a look that dropped with a grin to his groin and made Geralt blush. But then Jaskier nodded and adjusted his guitar. The tune he was striking up now was haunting, heartbreak and longing etched deep into the notes. It reminded Geralt distantly of _Jolene_ , a sorrowful love triangle between the protagonist, a bewitching woman and her man. Though something seemed off. When Jaskier opened his eyes with the second chorus, holding Geralt’s gaze, it dawned on him: this was the song Jaskier had played the morning after their fight. This was the song that had been unexpectedly successful. This was the song Jaskier had written over the last weeks. This was _their_ song.

Geralt felt weirdly moved by that realisation. Jaskier had carried his pain with him for weeks, thinking of Geralt as unreachable, composing this song while processing his feelings - and Geralt could bite himself for letting this whole affair get so carried away, not having the balls to step up and tell Jaskier the truth. 

As the final chord died away, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and a breath hit his ear. “Don’t get into your head, hun.” Geralt turned towards Cheri and was greeted with a cheeky grin and a look that swept from his open shirt buttons down his torso and towards his leather pants. Cheri licked his lips. “If you ask me, you look like you dressed to get fucked today.” Geralt opened his mouth to protest but Cheri just winked and talked over his sharp inhale. “Nothing wrong with that. So whether you want my advice or not, I say: Get out, clear your head. Jask will be done in a minute, maybe two if anyone wants him to pose for some selfies. I’ll tell him you’re waiting outside. I’ll see to his equipment, linger a bit if he needs a lift home. Which I doubt.” He all but shoved Geralt into the direction of the back door.

Geralt went straight to the dark corner Jaskier had stood before. He could prevent himself from pacing, instead, he leant his back against the brick wall and traced his unsteady fingers along the mortar of the joints. Jaskier apparently followed closely behind him, he left the pub a minute or two later and Geralt sighed in relief. Jaskier took some quick steps towards him and before Geralt could do anything, he slotted himself against Geralt’s body, tightly embracing him. His face was hidden in the crook of Geralt’s neck and he could feel Jaskier’s breath ghosting over his skin.

“I’m sorry, that last one was a bit of a mood killer,” he mumbled and then chuckled. “I had hoped to rile you up and take you right here.” He began to nib at Geralt’s neck and underlined his words with a press of his groin against Geralt’s thigh. 

Geralt’s mind short-circuited when he felt Jaskier’s - already pretty hard - cock press against him through the leather of his trousers. His own cock twitched and filled remarkably fast in response. Without a conscious decision, without giving his thoughts a chance to interfere, he pressed back against Jaskier, shuddering when Jaskier gasped against his damp neck. 

“Fuck, Geralt,” Jaskier rasped, “I’ve been horny for the better part of a week now. I don’t think I can make it home.” 

Geralt made an approving sound in the back of his throat and pressed his leg against Jaskier’s cock again, tilting his thigh to draw out the friction. Jaskier hummed and bracketed his torso with his arms, crowding him against the wall. Geralt held his breath and looked Jaskier in the eye, as open as he could - presenting everything he could give. He saw a smile crinkle around Jaskier’s eyes. Jaskier reached out, cupping his palm around Geralt’s cheek, his fingers playing lightly behind his ear. He looked like he wanted to say something, though the only word leaving his lips was “Geralt”, before he tilted his head and captured Geralt’s mouth with his own. He mirrored Geralt’s kiss from before, kissing lightly before he sneaked his tongue over Geralt’s lips which were parting in response. For a moment, they shared each other’s breaths, slowing their desire to cherish the moment. 

When Geralt dipped his head a fraction towards him, Jaskier took the hint and dove in, capturing Geralt’s mouth with tongue and teeth. Geralt was stunned by the sheer force of Jaskier’s want but soon allowed himself to be swept away with it. He sneaked his hands under Jaskier’s jacket and dragged his shirt up while he simultaneously pulled him closer. He opened his legs, slotting their groins together, and they swallowed each other’s moans. Jaskier broke the kiss to gulp in air before he nuzzled at Geralt’s neck. “Oh my fucking Gods, you are so blazingly hot. All the things we wrote, all the things we said - fuck, all the things I dreamed of before knowing it was possible. I want to do them all at once. But we have time, hm?” 

“Hm.” Geralt let his head fall back against the brick wall. He closed his eyes and bared his neck to give Jaskier’s exploring tongue the best access. His hips were undulating of their own volition now, his cock throbbing against the tight confines of his leather pants. Jaskier seemed to sense his despair, his hands coming down to cup the bulge in the front of his pants, drawing a low moan out of Geralt’s throat that rang alarmingly loud through the pub’s deserted back alley. Geralt’s eyes flew open but Jaskier just chuckled and swept his hands up, opening his button and fly as if it was the most normal thing in the world to do. 

Geralt’s thoughts clamped around the sudden comprehension that this - most probably - wasn’t the first handjob Jaskier had given in the back of an alley. Before Geralt could get nauseous with that thought, Jaskier reached inside his trousers and closed his hand around Geralt’s cock. He hadn’t thought it possible, but the rush of blood leaving his brain and pumping into his cock actually led to vertigo, washing away all doubts on the way. Jaskier stroked up and down his length, circling his thumb around the head of Geralt’s cock, dragging it through the slick precome. His other hand cupped Geralt’s jaw again, kissing him slowly before he dragged down his own pants and freed his own cock. The moment Jaskier pressed both of their cocks together, Geralt’s head thumped back against the wall. He bit his lip to keep himself from drawing attention. His mind was torn between the feeling of Jaskier’s hand on his cock and his mouth that had returned to nibbling at his neck, moaning and cursing under his breath on occasion. When Jaskier started pumping their cocks together in his hands, he could do nothing more than breathe and hold on for dear life. Far too soon, he felt his balls draw up and the tightening in his belly that indicated his impending orgasm, and he tried to back away, to slow Jaskier down. Jaskier raised his head when he felt Geralt’s motion, reading his face and smirking lopsidedly. “I wanna see your face when you come, darling,” he breathed, “We have all night - all day -fuck- as long as you want to go on, but right now, I wanna see the stars exploding in your liquid honey eyes and your beautiful face slacken in ecstasy. You feel so good - look so pretty - don’t hold - back - show me - please…”

Geralt could tell Jaskier was getting closer himself, his litany of words interrupted by more and more hitches in his voice. His hand was still relentlessly working their cocks and Geralt knew he couldn’t hold out any longer, not when Jaskier watched him, wanted to watch him, seeking his pleasure first instead of his own. He felt exposed, but it wasn’t frightening anymore. So when Jaskier twisted his wrist and drew his thumb through their combined precome at the heads of their cocks, he gave in to the pleasure, groaning out through gritted teeth, and let his climax wash over him. Against his habit, he kept his eyes open, fixing Jaskier with his gaze. It took only a heartbeat before Jaskier’s rhythm faltered and his ongoing niceties came to an abrupt end. His mouth formed a perfect, silent ‘O’, not even air leaving him, and he went absolutely rigid for a second before he slumped against Geralt’s shoulder.

“We probably should get our pants back on,” Jaskier mumbled against Geralt’s neck some moments later, though he did nothing to move. Geralt wouldn’t move either, bathing in Jaskier’s glow after their first actual sexual encounter was too precious to break the moment. Jaskier had said something about the night, about however long he wanted to be with him. Geralt wasn’t sure how that was meant, or even if it meant anything and wasn’t just said in the heat of the moment. Nonetheless, he told himself sternly not to worry, to only think from one step to the next, and to store all the energy radiating off of Jaskier in himself. 

It became clearer with the come cooling between them, that the next step would be to gather themselves and go back in, to possibly get another drink or more probably drive home and continue the night that just had started. So Geralt stirred and nudged at Jaskier. 

When they both felt representable enough - the colour still high on their cheeks, Jaskier reached for Geralt’s hand and dragged him back into the pub, a wide grin spreading on his face. Geralt couldn’t help the answering one forming on his lips, and he let it sit there with pride.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooa, final chapter! Have some lemon first and some sweetness later.
> 
> ((I took some freedom with motorcycle safety gear here and in another chapter solely for the sake of the "plot". Do not do this at home!))

Back in the pub, Cheri was in animated conversation with one of the pub’s owners. When she saw Jaskier, she approached to shake his hands and thank him profusely for his performance before leaving them. Jaskier looked at Cheri who grinned widely. “Looks like I got a promotion as your manager. You have a meeting with her and a local radio reporter Tuesday at ten, there’s a ‘young indie musician’ program coming up and they want to have you featured.”

Jaskier laughed and let go of Geralt’s hand to hug Cheri. Geralt managed to only feel a small stab in his chest which was balmed by the way Jaskier nestled to his side only moments later. 

Cheri ushered them out to the street, assuring Jaskier that he was getting all of his stuff over by car and that he would drop it off at noon the next day, whatever they were up to by then.

On their way to Jaskier’s flat on the motorcycle, Jaskier’s fingers skimmed over Geralt’s torso in a now decidedly not accidental or subconscious way and Geralt had to make an effort to concentrate on the - luckily very sparse - traffic. He was quite relieved that Jaskier couldn’t kiss his nape due to their helmets. His fingers, though, circling his nipples, scratching over his stomach, dipping into his waistband, where enough to let his blood reach boiling point. He had come in one of the most adventurous handjobs he’d ever had only half an hour ago and already he was so eager to go again, he almost stalled the engine twice.

Parking in front of Jaskier’s home, his back cooled quickly when Jaskier dismounted and took a step back so Geralt could dismount too, but Jaskier snuggled himself against Geralt immediately on their way to the door. He stayed a little behind him, pressing his crotch against the side of Geralt’s thigh, his right hand pawing at the small of his back, slithering down below his waistband. “You have a glorious arse, dear,” he whispered into Geralt’s ear. “Can’t wait to see you splayed out naked on my bed.”

It didn’t come to that, though, at least not right away. All the way up to Jaskier’s door, Jaskier mouthed at his ear and neck and stopped and pressed him against the wall repeatedly, more breathing into Geralt’s mouth than kissing him. Geralt was pretty sure he would have been naked by the time they reached the door on the second floor if he hadn’t stopped Jaskier time and again from undressing him on the stairs. Inside the flat, though, right behind the door, Jaskier couldn’t hold back anymore. He stepped behind Geralt and pressed his shoulders forward, so Geralt stood facing the wall, canting his arse out. Geralt was briefly reminded of the first time he pleasured himself while thinking about Jaskier in the shower, when his trousers were yanked down to his knees and all rational thought left him. He heard Jaskier gasp behind him. “Fuck, you have the most perfect arse. You are so beautiful, Geralt, so pretty.”

Geralt’s insides fluttered with that praise - unfamiliar, but not entirely unpleasant. He noticed an uptake in Jaskier’s breathing and looked back over his shoulder. What he saw made his cock twitch, reminding him again how utterly exposed he let himself be to Jaskier. Jaskier’s hand was between his shoulder blades to stop him from turning around properly. Jaskier’s cheeks were tinted a dark shade of rose, his eyes fixed on Geralt’s arse. His trousers were shoved down, too, his cock jutting out under the hem of his shirt, Jaskier’s hand stroking it lightly up and down before he gripped more tightly and gave himself a few firm strokes.

“I want to see your arse covered in my come, I want to rub it into your skin, Ger-, I want-,” he was interrupted by his own panting and Geralt gathered all of his arousal-driven wit:

“Why don’t you stop talking and do something then?”

Jaskier hummed. “Yes, though- I don’t really kn--ow where to start. I wann- _fuck_ \- wanna fuck you right here- now. Not sure- if I’d survive the prep.”

“Me neither,” Geralt rumbled, arousal thrumming through his veins, his cock almost achingly hard, “but that’s not a problem.” With that, he took a step back towards Jaskier, bringing his arse right in front of his groin and rubbed his cleft against Jaskier’s cockhead. 

“Good gods, you’re so fucking hot,” Jaskier gasped. “What do you have in mind?”

Geralt reached back for Jaskier’s cock, making Jaskier groan when he closed his hand around it and pumped a few times. He looked back over his shoulder once again, taking in the sight of Jaskier’s flushed face, his flushed cock in his hand, warm and smooth and hard.

With one hand Geralt continued supporting his weight against the wall, with the other, despite the awkward angle, he drew Jaskier in and guided his cock between his thighs, right where his arse met his legs. Wearing leather trousers in a crowded pub in summer had had one advantage in hindsight: it was… damp, down there. When Jaskier took the hint and slotted himself against Geralt’s arse, he pressed his legs closer together, forming a tunnel for Jaskier to use. 

Jaskier moaned when the head of his cock breached Geralt’s thighs. He thrusted slowly, drawing out the feeling of skin on skin, experimenting with the angle and the depth, soon going quicker and deeper, meeting Geralt’s balls with every other thrust.

“That’s an excellent idea, darling, truly - fucking - amazing.”

Geralt felt Jaskier’s fingers flex in his shirt, his thrusts getting more confident. His own hand was on his way to his cock which was aching and screaming for release when Jaskier suddenly gripped his shoulder and stopped thrusting. Geralt wanted to protest, wanted to ask, but was silenced with a shush. Jaskier took a step to the side, cleared the surface of the shoe cabinet with one swipe of his arm and manhandled Geralt towards it, bending him over the top. He slotted his cock back between Geralt’s thighs and gripped his arse. 

“That’s it, yeah, that’s it.”

Geralt felt the cool wood under his hands and against his cock and it was the only thing still grounding him. He briefly wondered when he had been this aroused the last time but decided it wasn’t worth dwelling on the past now. Instead, he pressed his thighs together, eliciting a groan from Jaskier.

“Fuck, I can feel every twitch of your muscles. If you feel so good this way, how will you feel when I’m inside you?”

With that, Jaskier skimmed his hands over Geralt’s arse cheeks, dipping his fingers into his tensed muscles. He slowly spread his arse cheeks apart, pausing for a moment, clearly taking in the sight of his hole. Geralt buried his face in the crook of his arm, feeling more exposed than ever.

“May I touch you?”, Jaskier whispered, not bothering to indicate where exactly, though Geralt understood nonetheless. Since he was beyond words, he merely nodded. Jaskier hummed. Instead of fingers on his arsehole, though, he felt Jaskier’s thumb brushing against his mouth, slipping between his panting lips. He closed his lips around it, sucking lightly and swirled his tongue around it, revelling in the hiss that was drawn from Jaskier. When he decided it was damp enough for a teasing bit of fun, he popped Jaskier’s thumb out of his mouth with an obscene sound. 

Jaskier took the hint and spread his cheeks again, his fingers kneading Geralt’s flesh. He let his damp thumb trail down his cleft, skimming over his hole once, twice before he let it rest there, just a light-weight touch. Geralt felt pierced between those points of too light contact: Jaskier’s hands, his thumb, his cock still slowly thrusting between his thighs, his own aching cock unreachable pressed against the wooden panel - and he couldn’t keep in a low whine. He started to rock his hips, pressing back against Jaskier, increasing his rhythm, but it was doing nothing to ease his need.

Jaskier’s breathing became deeper with Geralt’s motions, though, and his hands on Geralt’s arse were trembling slightly. That alone let Geralt marvel, he was doing that to Jaskier, and suddenly his own need wasn’t as relevant anymore. When Jaskier paused, lifting one hand to circle Geralt’s hip, Geralt shook his head and made a negating sound. Jaskier cursed. He gripped tighter into Geralt’s muscles, grunting a litany of “Yes, fuck, gorgeous, you are -fuck, Geralt, you’re-” 

Geralt never learned what he was, cause right at that moment Jaskier went still, shuddering against him while he spilled his come between Geralt’s thighs. He slumped against his back as if all energy had left him. Geralt opened his stance a bit so he could support Jaskier’s weight easily and tried not to jiggle, accustomed to Jaskier’s post-orgasmic state by now.

It took only a few moments until he stirred, stroking his hands over Geralt’s shirt. “So good, you have been so good for me. Now let’s get you out of these clothes, shall we?” He pulled Geralt up to standing and guided him through the hallway to the door on the right, into his bedroom. It was rather large, a big bed stuffed with cushions occupying the centre of the far wall, right under the window. Geralt didn’t see much more, concentrating on walking in his open pants and not to step onto any of the books and clothes and _things_ that lay scattered around all over the floor. 

Jaskier pushed him forward until his knees hit the bed frame. He hugged him from behind again, undulating his hips in tiny, promising jerks against Geralt’s still naked arse, his hands roaming over the expanse of his chest. His arousal hadn’t subsided while they relocated, but it flared up with force when Jaskier’s fingernails scraped through the cotton of his shirt over his nipples, the constriction of the muscles that made his flesh pebble sending tingles over his skin. Jaskier let his hands travel to his collar and slowly, way to slowly he opened each button. While unbuttoning the last buttons, he pulled the shirt from his trousers and brushed his knuckles over Geralt’s stomach. Geralt involuntarily twitched and gasped. Jaskier turned his hand and laid his palm on Geralt’s taught muscles. He nosed at his ear, whispering “You are so responsive. I love how you groan and writhe.” His fingers slipped over Geralt’s torso, tracing imaginary lines, finding his nipples again, circling, rubbing, flicking. When he pinched, Geralt moaned and pushed back against him, his still untouched cock bobbing with the motions, making him giddy. 

Jaskier shushed and rasped into his skin: “Get on the bed, darling. On your back”. But before Geralt could react, Jaskier slipped his fingers under his shirt and pulled it down his arms. He undressed him efficiently all the way and then gave him a light push so he would step out of his boots and trousers and crawl onto the bed. Geralt clambered onto the large bed and turned around, positioning himself on his back in the middle. Jaskier took long moments to look at him, his gaze travelling over his skin. Every time it skimmed over his cock, Jaskier licked his lips. The moment Geralt started to become fidgety, his want to have more than Jaskier’s gaze on his cock becoming unbearable, Jaskier crawled onto the bed beside him, shimmying with energy, a glint in his eyes. 

“I promised you that I will make you feel good for hours, remember?”, he said, his hand just ghosting over Geralt’s aching cock.

He could only groan in response. He pushed his hips up to meet Jaskier’s hand, but it slipped away, leaving him moaning helplessly . Jaskier rearranged his legs and positioned himself between them, spreading them obscenely with a hand on each of Geralt’s inner thighs. “You’re a fucking delight, Geralt, I can’t wait to devour you,” he said and dipped his head, licking a broad stripe from his perineum up his balls and over his shaft. On his way down again, he exhaled slowly, blowing his breath over Geralt’s damp skin. He repeated that motion an innumerable number of times, sometimes going a bit further down, sometimes flicking his tongue over Geralt’s cock head. 

When Jaskier finally reached for the pump-bottle of lube on the bedside stand and breached Geralt’s entrance with a slicked-up finger, while simultaneously swallowing his length down, it took only a handful of strokes until Geralt was a whimpering mess. He would have held himself back, gritted his teeth, but he remembered Jaskier asking him to show his pleasure and so he didn’t care what kind of noises he made, especially since every one of his groans was met by a moan of Jaskier, sending vibrating jolts through his cock. He came with his hands fisted in the sheets, his hips bucking up, his growl resounding from the walls.

Later, Geralt went bare-foot into the kitchen, getting himself a cup of coffee. He sat down at the small table, rubbing his eyes exhaustedly. He didn’t remember when he had come three times in a row for the last time. Probably a decade ago, or even longer. And they didn’t even start the actual _fucking_ , for some reason. He took in the view of Jaskier’s dark kitchen and thought about where he had been only one week before. He laughed at his impaired anxiety - huddled into a corner, ready to jump at him - left the kitchen and called out to Jaskier: “I really don’t know if I can get it going again right now, but chances are that when I see you in those red boxers of yours you’ve been wearing when we first met, I’m going down on you so hard you gonna scream.”

* * *

_Weeks later._ It was odd to be the one picked up from work rather than picking Jaskier up from the shop or some business meeting (which he had had several since his first radio interview some weeks ago). Ambling over the green in front of the animal shelter towards Cheri’s old Jeep, he whistled through his teeth and a fuzzy ball of red and white bolted from the shrubbery. Roach and the still unnamed terrier slowed down next to him and trotted with him towards the curb. He nodded at Cheri, opened the Jeep’s boot and lifted the apprehensive terrier into the box that they had prepared. Roach had raised her front paws onto the bumper, stretching her lanky form to get a good look. Geralt chuckled, “You’re a nosy little girl, aren’t you?” and hoisted her back paws into the trunk too, placing her into the second box.

When he climbed into the passenger seat, Cheri greeted him with a happy smile and a quick peck on the cheek (he never went further, though, but he was touchy as ever). “Do you think he suspects anything?”

Geralt buckled up and shook his head. “Don’t think so. I hope this is okay for him. I mean, I’m acting so much against my own rules right now. You just don’t give pets as gifts.”

“Well, technically they’re both yours. And he loves Roach. He’ll burst with joy, don’t worry.”

Geralt hummed.

Cheri parked the car on the street and quickly went through the driveway to get a sign from Nenneke if the way was clear. He motioned towards Geralt who lifted the dogs out of the trunk and went after him. He heard Nenneke calling: “Jaskier, darling, could you please come out here?”. A moment later, just when he went around the corner into the yard, a slightly distracted looking, tousled Jaskier came out of the shop, traces of soil painted all over his cheeks and forehead, forearms and jeans, giving Geralt a strong flash back to their first meeting. Geralt let go of Roach’s and the terrier’s collars. It took all of two seconds for Jaskier to process the situation, his eyes darting from a grinning Nenneke to a laughing Cheri to a silently smiling Geralt to a leaping Roach and a cantering terrier. A quick glance back to Geralt, a raised eyebrow, a nod from Geralt, and Jaskier sank to the ground, embracing Roach when she reached him. He was laughing and laughing, and when Iola padded outside, greeting the newcomers with a gracious tilt of her head and a soft touch of her nose, Geralt saw him biting his lips and screwing his eyes shut for a moment, throat bobbing while he swallowed.

He crossed the yard in long strides and settled on the ground next to Jaskier.

“This little fellow still needs a name,” he said.

Jaskier blinked at him. “May… may I?”

“Of course.”

“Oh. You know, when I was a child and dreamed of having my own dog, I used to call him Pegasus,” he explained, smiling a bit sheepishly.

Geralt huffed a laugh. “You still wanna go with that?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Then Pegasus it is.” He scooted a little closer, brushing the back of his hand over Jaskier’s arm, and Jaskier closed the last of the distance and captured Geralt’s mouth in a sweet kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU, YOU ARE THE BEST <3 to everyone who read this little story! It's been a great ride with you, it was amazing to get your kudos, comments and messages and I am a bit sad that this is the final post... but I'm sure I can't keep my hands off of these two boys - another time, another fic - so stay tuned ;)

**Author's Note:**

> I am [@LigeiaSand](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ligeiasand) on tumblr, come say hello!


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